


Live for the Night

by PetraJade



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: AU, Angst, Brothels, Chapter names inspired by song lyrics, Crossdressing, Happy Ending, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, Orphans and other sad things, Post War France, Prostitution, Underage Prostitution, background Alois/Claude, background Grell/Will, cause Ciel makes a pretty girl, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:59:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1385131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetraJade/pseuds/PetraJade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grell, Meirin and the infamous Madam Red are well known Red Light District workers who all have two things in common: they all work at Black Lace, a post-war French brothel, and they are co-mothering one Ciel, an orphan they found half dead in an alleyway. But raising a kid in a brothel is hard enough, but it is made ten times harder when the new Brothel owner proves abusive. Can they protect Ciel forever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Live for the Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YourShadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourShadow/gifts).



> Published originally on FF.net under the same penname. I'll be updating both sites at relatively the same rate. This was originally my NaNoWriMo project, but I was unable to finish it do to work. So, enjoy, okay?
> 
> Also, my wifey, yourshadow, is the bestest editor and wifey ever.

Winter had once again returned to France. The war had just ended, and many of the European nations were in ruins. It seemed that only France had survived the total devastation, thanks to the seemingly unending strength of the franc. But even with the war over, work never seemed to end for those in the Red Light districts of the ‘unmentionable’ parts of Paris, France. Street Walkers, Brothel Workers, Drug Dealers, underground markets; the red light was booming in business since the soldiers who had returned seemed to need a way to forget the horrors of the battlefield. Sometimes there did not even want the sexual end of a prostitute’s work or the high the dealers offered, they just wanted someone to talk too. Someone to listen of the bloody tales that wove in and out of their nightmares; tales of screams and fire and blood, deafening gunfire combining with bellowed orders and planes firing overhead made for a horror story of the senses as the men spoke.

But as the snow fell over the district, one woman, no older than twenty, stood to the side of a wall. She was dressed in a simple but eye-catching short skirted gown that accented her legs but left her no defense against the wind of the France winter. She was waiting for a client, her red hair done up in twin pigtails that made her look younger and more energetic than she felt. Her face was covered in makeup, done up to make her look like a proper whore, cheeks aflame with both cold and blush, lips painted a deep burgundy that sent a look of purple into her hair. She rubbed her nose a little, feeling it run against the cold air that swept past her face. It was cold, and her tights did nothing to protect her legs from the wind as it began to pick up the dry flakes of snow and sweep them along the streets like wayward spirits; it was lonely tonight.

The silence defended her as she waited, looking over to the nearby clock tower to check the time. Her client was late and she was shaking now. It was too cold for her to be working tonight, but she needed the money to pay for dinner this week for her and her two partners in crime, as it were. The three had agreed once-upon-a-time many years ago to blend their money together in order to make brothel life easier. They all shared the same dream, to one day save up enough money to leave the brothel and prostitute life behind for a better one. Her heels clicked against the snowy ground as she shuffled around, trying in vain to make her body warm up as the wind once again died down, and the flakes falling against the ground in silent blankets. No one was on the street tonight, not even the Street Walkers or the police. She was completely alone.

Ten more minutes passed in silence before she decided the cold had kept her client and free dinner at bay. She sighed. It was the way of the prostitute, unfortunately. Some days went better than others, and some days were like this: silent, cold and dinnerless. She uncrossed her arms and pushed away from the wall, it was time to go back. At least the brothel was warmer and she had the blankets on her bed that kept the winter chill at bay. Her blankets were nowhere near as warm as Madam Red’s, since the older woman had long been at this business and had a few wealthy patrons, but at least she was not sleeping on the streets anymore. She walked past many an orphan on the street who took shelter in over turned trash cans during winter when the police were away from the back alleys. She could not help them, she had barely enough money to pay for food herself. Most of them would end up in a brothel themselves, or as street walkers, or even in a rich man’s collection.

But anything was better than starving and freezing on the streets. The war had left many orphans though, and the winter was harsh, and many times she had walked over the frozen corpses of a child holding their younger sibling to them in a vain attempt to keep them warm through the night. She desperately wished she could have spared a coat or a blanket, but she truly had nothing to give. And the brothel was not hers to give shelter too. And since she had recently messed up quite a few arrangements due to her own stubbornness and refusal to do certain _things_ with her clients in the public parts of the brothel, it was unlikely a hint or push from her would change the Madam’s mind. In fact, it would probably make the owner of the brothel fire her and send her back to the streets. That was something she could not afford.

As she passed yet another snow-covered ally, a small sound caught her attention. A tiny mound of snow suddenly shifted at the click of her heels, moving away as if terrified. This caused her to pay attention closely to it, since most of the orphans in the streets would move closer to the sounds of people passing by. This one moved away, as if terrified of her passing by. Taking a risk, she walked towards the lump, through the shin-deep snow as it moved away. Eventually the snow fell from the figure, revealing a small boy covered in a thick coat that was more of a blanket to him. Whoever had left him here obviously left him with some defense, which was better than most of those abandoned in the Red Light. She continued pursuing the boy, until he was pressed against the far wall and unable to escape. As she came within touching distance the child whimpered, burrowing further into the coat.

“P-please. Go’way.” A tiny voice pleaded. He could not have been older than four. “Go’way.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” she responded, kneeling in the snow against her better judgment, “I won’t hurt you. My name is Meyrin, what’s yours?” She asked gently.

“N’body. Go’way.” The boy responded, clinging to the coat as the wind once again stirred the flurries of snow into tiny tornadoes in the limited area of the ally.

“Come on, what’s your name? I won’t hurt you.” She tried again, putting her hand on his shoulder on top of the jacket, feeling how cold the fabric was already getting. “Are you cold?”

The tiny being nodded, the jacket moving up and down as he did.

“Are you hungry?” She asked again. Once again the nod shook the jacket. She smiled gently. “Okay, how about you tell me your name and I’ll take you someplace warm and get you something to eat?” She offered. Why mercy had suddenly gripped her was beyond her, perhaps because this boy was so young. Or perhaps because he clearly had an older man’s winter coat, meaning someone once cared very deeply for him once or still did.

The tiny body shifted, revealing a tiny head of slate-to-black hair and a pair of lapis eyes. He was smaller than she expected, skinny and weak looking. He would freeze to death in hours rather than days like most those left here. His nose was already bright red and his lips were fighting to stay pink as blue began to outline them. “I-I Ciel.” He said quietly, teeth chattering in the wind before he ducked back into his makeshift fortress. Meyrin smiled to herself, it was an appropriate name for one with eyes the color he did. He would be a beautiful man when he grew up. Meyrin decided then that she had to save this boy, at least this boy. Maybe it would be to make up for all those children she passed on the street who were dying alone. Maybe it was because she had never seen one so young left behind. And it was clear he was barely holding on, even with the jacket covering him.

He was shivering again, wheezing breaths seeming to fight their way from his blue lips as the cold began to bite down on the coat. Meyrin moved then, her own teeth chattering from the cold as the snow soaked into her tights and shoes as she lifted the boy-jacket and all-into her arms. Her feet stung, like glass shards instead of stone as she forced her numbing legs to work. She had another three blocks to go, and her legs were fighting her every step of the way. Shots of pure pain shot up her legs with every step, numbness combing with painful pins and needles as her heels bit harshly. Her skin was like glass, shattering with every step and rebuilding for yet another step as she remembered the tiny bundle in her arms. She positioned the coat again, trying to keep the wind away from him as she walked slowly, heels threatening to crack and break under her awkward gait. Snow was pushed away by her movements, no longer picking up her feet but dragging them through the snow, making the pain in her feet double. She refused to stop.

Her feet were numb by the time the lights of the Black Lace, the brothel she called home, came into sight. She almost wept with joy at the sight and her feet seemed to pick up, despite her inability to feel them. She moved the bundle in her numbing arms, panic welling in her heart as she felt him flop like a dead weight. _No......_ She thought to herself, _please don’t die on me, Ciel. Not you._ She pleaded, holding the boy closer against the wind, willing her body heat to somehow restore him.

“Don’t worry, Ciel,” she spoke, teeth chattering, “We’re almost there. Soon there will be food and water and you can sleep on my bed. I’ll even steal one of Red’s blankets for you.” She muttered, as if her words would bring him back to instant life and he would perk up. She stepped out on to the shoveled cobblestones of the area in front of the brothel. She did not bother to go through the front, she would get caught by whoever was working the front. And whoever braved the storm for an easy night would surely question why she was carrying a child that was clearly not hers. She decided to go through the back. Once she swept inside the door, the heat of the place instantly flooded her senses and within seconds she felt her face tingling and pain returning to her feet. But she could not stop and check on her package yet, not until she was in the safety of her room.

She passed a few fellow workers, who all shot her questioning looks, but nothing more than that occurred. For the most part the brothel workers would not rat each other out, as long as you did not rat them out. She pushed open the door for the three-bed room she shared with her two closest friends and was quick to place her bundle on her bed. She whipped off the jacket and put her ear to his mouth. She was relieved when she heard tiny breaths coming from the boy, but his body was freezing quickly and Meyrin knew she had to warm him up as quickly as possible. Stealing the blankets from Madam Red’s bed and wrapping the boy tightly, she grabbed her sleeping robe and rushed into the bath house, quickly feeling one of the client baths with as hot of water as she could stand with her hands. She soaked the bathrobe until it was as hot as the water before she returned to him and wrapped him in the robe as well as the blankets.

She heard a loud noise outside and new her roommates had returned and once the two older workers swept into the room, she whipped her head to them tearfully.

“Grell! Angelina! Help me! He stopped breathing and his body is so cold!” She cried, making the other two stop suddenly.

“What are you talking about?” The voice of the elder woman came to her before Meyrin moved to the side, revealing the tiny body wrapped in the thicker blankets. Instantly the woman was at his side, checking him for signs of life.

“Meyrin, grab all the towels you can find in our room and heat them up the way you did the robe, also bring a basin or two of hot water. Grell, change the blankets out every time the towels are changed, which will be every ten minutes or so. We need to get his temperature up now.” She barked and the other two quickly carried out her orders. Meyrin would have to explain herself and these actions later, she was sure of it, but as she carried in the basins of hot water and watched Angelina warm the cloth on his head before it got cold and she eagerly ran from bathhouse to room to keep hot towels nearby the boy.

It seemed like hours before color returned to the boy’s face and Angelina declared he was a normal body temperature again.

“Though, he will need to stay bundled up tonight.” She said, standing.

“But that means one of us will be without blankets.” Complained the only male in the room, a flamboyant red-head known as Grell.

“I’ll sleep with him.” Meyrin said quietly. “I found him, so I’ll stay with him.” She said timidly. Angelina nodded and laid in her own bed, returning the blankets to her bed and laid in them. Grell did the same after locking the door to their room before returning to his own bed. Meyrin climbed into bed with the tiny boy, pulling him close to her body and covering them both in the blanket. She knew it would be hard, taking care of this boy and convincing her partners to do the same, but she felt close to this boy now. And nothing would ever tear them apart.


	2. I Live for the Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, a disclaimer: I do not nor ever will own Black Butler.

Winter seemed much colder now that the war was over. So many orphans littered the streets now, easy prey for the depraved and the rich. And many soldiers now filled the bars and brothels, seeking distraction from their own mental issues. But they paid well, same as everyone else who entered the Red. But sometimes the things they wanted were out of the question, things such as acting like a dead spouse or a former lover who abandoned them in favor of a lover who had not gone to war; it was both an unusual offer and one not many self-respecting workers would adhere too. One in particular found the practice disgusting and beneath him. 

He was a stunning site when he walked the streets, hair as red as the evening sun that reached all the way to his feet. It moved like a river of silk, each strand silky and straight that swung as he walked. He was meticulous about his appearance, and it paid off many times. He was popular with the clients, both new and old. Probably because he could easily change from man to woman; he was a creature of halves and changes, as elusive and quick to change as a butterfly. Yes, he fancied himself highly, and was often at odds with the other workers of Black Lace. They all nattered about like twittering little magpies in the presence of a coin. He preferred to strut like a bright red peacock and let the coins come to him, so he primped and preened day in and day out to make himself perfect. 

Lips colored with thick rogue, eyes lined with charcoals and pigments from all areas of the spectrum; he may not have been born a noble woman, but he sure as hell carried himself as one. Every inch a refined person, he could speak as eloquently as any high-born person. But he could not read or write, like most prostitutes, yet that did not stop him from pretending. That was the name of the game in working the streets in the Red Light, bringing in clients for the brothel. It was all about pretending. The art of being something you were not and making people believe it. He posed as a woman to those he met on the street, and very few were lucky enough to meet his male half. His name was Grell Sutcliff, and he was a cross dressing prostitute. Most found it an odd practice, and some refused to even return to the brothel because of him; however, there were far more that found the idea alluring and returned again and again to have him for the evening. 

He had been doing this for years, more than he could count, and had the entire thing down to an art form. Grell was an artist in the deepest sense of the word, suffering and profiting for his art. Each evening was spent toiling over his appearance as his transformation from male to female began; from hair to makeup and forcing his feet into the crimson heeled shoes he wore, always enduring the awful pain of the preparation. Then he would take to the front end of the brothel and enjoy the pleasures of attention and clients. He was profitable, so he was spoiled by the Madam and the wealthy owner. He was also spoiled by his two friends. His cute little Meyrin looked to him for advice and tips, since she was so much younger and very new at this compared to him. Angelina gave him tips and the extra ornate dresses from her patrons that were too big. He was like the perfect middle child in their makeshift family, given everything he wanted and watching over his two partners in crime with a watchful-and vengeful-eye. 

There were times he got violent at patrons. He did not take kindly to those who mistreated the workers in the brothel, and many times he had sent them flying out of the building, bleeding and at least one rib cracked. He was passionate in everything he did, and the fiery red of his emotions burned brightly and often out of control. He loved deeply, lusted deeper and enjoyed violence the deepest. But he had limited room for true love in his heart, choosing rather to bury the insecurities involved with being a prostitute under mountains of lustful chasing of men and putting over dramatic emotion in everything he did. Only three people had moved deep enough into his heart to allow for true devotion from the constantly changing pursuer of profit and temporary emotional highs. One was Meyrin, the recently-adult girl who found herself swept away by the brothel life. She had been a street walker before, and now she was nervous, timid and passed over by clients because she rarely stood out. Grell had become incredibly attached to her and he would protect her to the end. 

The second was Angelina Durless, an older woman with short red hair and a fondness for red that put even Grell to shame. She was professionally known as Madam Red, and she was as well-known as the Red Light District or the Moulin Rouge. She had many patrons, though not enough to escape brothel life and become a Mistress to a wealthy man. She often confided in Grell and he found himself trusting the woman with his own dreams and thoughts. What she said was law in his eyes, like the leader figure he never had before. He would do anything she asked without question and he found himself hoping for the day Madam told him that she had found a man to take her as a Mistress. The final figure was a tiny boy Meyrin had brought home from a failed client meeting. 

The night he had appeared was one of the coldest Grell remembered that winter. He was deep into charming a man who was very in to trying something new--that new thing being Grell himself--when the signal for an ended night came from the upper floors. The men began to filter out of the area, a few women in disguise in their ranks, and Grell stood to stretch his arms and dust off the bottom of the gown he wore. It was in beautiful taste, inspired heavily from the romanticized picture of an old west saloon girl, slit high up his leg and covered in black laces and red ruffles. He adored it, feathered bustle and all. His heels clicked on the floor as he made his way towards the entrance, awaiting the arrival of the woman he adored most in the world. Without fail she appeared, walking through the snow in a fine red gown and scarlet parasol that kept the flurries at bay. She was a vision in the winter, like a blood stain in fresh snow; Grell felt a smirk pull at his rouged coated lips. 

"Angelina~" He purred as she neared. The woman smiled at him.

"Hello, Grell, how was your evening?" She asked, entering the door and closing her bright red parasol. 

"It was terribly boring, Angie." He whined. "I only had one boy interested, and he was a terrible bore. All sorts of prudish and worried about his wife finding out." He complained as the older woman dusted snow from her skirt and chuckled. 

"That happens sometimes, my lonely little one." She soothed, petting his hair like she was flattening ruffled feathers. "I had dinner with a lovely father and son couple. The father is an old friend of mine from before his married days, and he wanted to discuss my services for his son's birthday gift." She said, sitting on a nearby couch to unlace her boots. 

"You get all the fun." Grell pouted, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting on the arm of the sofa. He crossed his leg expertly, the slit of the dress moving up provocatively as he leaned against the couch's back. 

Angelina chuckled, patting the silk and satin covered leg of her companion. "I'm sure it'll pick up around here soon enough. It's a dry season, my sweet. Not many men will brave the cold for a risk-free night with one of us." She commented. The comment earned a whining sigh from the red headed cross dresser. 

"I know." He spat back, voice reflective of a child told the logic behind why he could not have a cookie before dinner. 

"Has Meyrin returned from her meeting?" Angelina asked him and Grell was snapped from his thoughts of the brothel being a boring place to work. 

"If she has it wasn't through the front." Grell responded. He was slightly worried. It was getting colder now that the sun was completely gone, and if Meyrin had yet to return she would probably freeze to death. Or perhaps she had been kidnapped. Either way, Grell was prepared to go out and find his little Meyrin and make sure she was alright. 

As if sensing his thoughts, the older woman placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Let's check our room before we rush out in to the night, weapons held high and skirts fluttering like capes in the wind." She said, patting his arm. 

Grell laughed. "How heroic and romantic, Madam Red." He said before scooting off the couch and standing. He offered an arm to the woman and helped her stand before they walked down the stairs to the lower floors were the worker's residential rooms were located. Grell sent a wink at the hired guard, a tall man with carefully crafted short hair and glasses, before they disappeared into a side hallway. Once all the workers had made it downstairs, they were required by contract to not leave their rooms. If they did, their safety was up to them and the hired guards were not required to help them. But Grell was fully capable of taking care of himself, and always had a sharpened blade with him. Angelina had a gun in her perfume bag and Meyrin also carried a small firearm with her; Grell made sure. 

Their shoes clicked against the silent halls as they neared the largest room in the brothel, a gift to Angelina when she had scored a patron in a French advisor to the king. Now Angelina shared it with Grell and Meyrin, the room now crowded with three beds and three makeshift closets. But it was warm with three bodies, and it had the only door that led to the outside alleyway between the brothel and a nearby rented bathhouse. When Japan fever had hit Europe in the 1800s, the bathhouse had been a prime attraction, but since the devastation of the war, it was not kept in the best condition. But the property belonged to Black Lace and was a prime spot for profit, what with public or communal bathing giving the feeling of living in Ancient Rome. The people enjoyed the power play, and in a time when nothing seemed to be going right, it was the right move for the brothel to get a great increase in profit. And it was one of the few places in the Red Light that had the ability to get hot water. 

The two red heads watched as two women workers got into an argument about a brush, scoffing between themselves as they opened the door to the room. Grell instantly noticed the blankets on Angelina's bed were missing. 

"Grell! Angelina! Help me!" 

The next few moments for Grell were spent changing blankets on a half-frozen four year old boy in an effort to save his life. It was long and grueling--especially in heels and the cold of the late night--but soon enough Angelina declared him alive. A feeling of relief washed over Grell. He could finally take off his boots. 

"I'm not sleeping with it." He declared when Angelina responded that someone needed to sleep with the kid to keep his body temperature up through the night. 

"I'll sleep with him." Meyrin said, giving the blankets back to Angelina and crawling under her covers with the tiny child. Grell sighed. He would deal with this in the morning. 

\--

"Momma! Momma!" The tiny, excited voice of a young boy came to Grell's ears as he entered the bedroom after his appointment with a man. Instantly a tiny body collided with his waist and he chuckled to himself, though he groaned on the outside. It was still strange being referred to as ‘momma,’ but Grell was getting more and more used to it as the boy grew. He could even distinguish between which of the three roommates the child was referring too. Grell was ‘momma’, Meyrin was ‘mommy’, and Angelina was ‘mother’. But Grell would not let his nickname deter him.

"Ciel, I am tired." He complained when the child would not release him. Internally he was purring like a happy cat, but outside he had to remain stern as he gently removed the child from his waist and sat on his bed. Instantly the tiny boy climbed up into his lap and Grell made a huge show of his displeasure, groaning and huffing like a child. The little one giggled and refused to move, knowing this was one of their games. 

"Oh, fine! Since you simply refuse to let your poor tired momma rest after a long day, tell me what has you so excited." He finally conceded. The seven year old on his lap clapped his hands in an almost victorious way and began.

"Mommy taught me to shoot today since she had no jobs." He said and Grell nodded. Meyrin was the better shot between Angelina and her, and she had fewer requests. "And she made me lunch and then she took me on a walk around the district." He babbled excitedly. 

"That's good. But what about when she was busy?" He asked. 

"I hid in here and read the book Mother got me." Ciel affirmed and Grell stroked his hair. 

"Good boy. Now, what else will you bother me with?" Grell asked. The boy smiled and pulled his knees up and cuddled closer into his Momma's lap. 

"Nothin'. I thought maybe we could just take a nap together or something. If you want. Since you are tired." He said and Grell felt his insides melt. Grell was the farthest thing from a mother the boy could get, but he loved the boy nevertheless. He smiled and laid down, holding the small boy close. 

"Fine, brat, fine. But only because I'm too tired to argue." He said, pulling the blanket over them and letting the young boy cling to him. 


	3. I Live for the High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last of the three intro chapters. Next one gets some plot.

It was a business as old as civilization itself. And she was the queen of it. She walked as if she owned the streets, sat in even the dingiest chair as if it was a throne, and spoke to friend and foe alike with a voice that was halfway between endearing and condescending. She was smart, crafty, beautiful and merciless when it came to her prey. And all that had accumulated into a successful run in her line of work. She was favored, sought after and paid well; gifts, free meals and all of it because she maintained an illusion for her clients. She gave them an escape from the normal hustle and bustle of life. And what an escape she was. 

There was no doubt that she was beautiful. Her short red hair was like a plume of feathers from the stunning cardinal. Her lips were always painted bright crimson and her nails always matched. Like a bright red beak and talons, she was as frightening in all red as she was beautiful and rare. Her wardrobe consisted of many fine gowns, given by old patrons as parting gifts when they went off to get married. She wore them with pride, happy that they had escaped the clutches of a life of prostitution. Her favorite was a long ballroom-type gown that hugged her frame tightly but ruffled around the leg slit like a Spanish dress. It was bright scarlet, with accents of white and dark blue and white rhinestones lining the chest line. With it she wore a large sun hat covered in bright red silk flowers: roses, lilies, and smaller blossoms. One large peacock feather offset the red and made for a stunning get up. It was her dress to meet clients in and she had a very important one today. 

He was an old client, from before she even worked at Black Lace. She had watched him go from middle class apprentice to a local business owner to the owner of a five store franchise across France. He was not the wealthiest, but he was a personal friend and so she granted him audience, despite the cold of the season. 

"Evening, Madam Red." The voice of her client came to the woman's ear as she entered the restaurant they agreed to meet in. The warmth was most welcome as the woman closed her red parasol and hooked it on her deep blue gloves. She smiled at the waitress and glided over to the table her client sat at. Her eyes were dramatically cast against thick smoky lines as she passed her gaze over the older man and younger boy. 

"Good evening, Mr. Edwards.” The woman responded with a curt smile. The man across from her chuckled and removed his hat.

“Alright, Angelina, I’ll drop the formal if you do.” He responded and the woman nodded.

“Agreed, dear Marcus.” She responded, voice light and airy. She left her hat on, but removed her gloves as the waiter approached, ready to take their orders for the food that evening. Her auburn eyes passed over the younger of the two and when he made eye contact with her, she sent him an easy-going smile over the rim of her interlocked fingers. “So, Marcus, what am I here for?” She asked before she sent her order for a drink to the young waiter.

Marcus Edwards ordered his own drink and one for the younger boy before watching the waiter leave. Once he was out of sight, he turned back to the prostitute across the table. He motioned to the younger boy again and once again Angelina’s eyes passed over the boy. He was skinny, but healthy enough from his appearance. The resemblance was clear, marking the boy as Marcus’s son, though the gentle features of his mother were clear. Angelina had never personally met the woman, but she knew the woman to be smart and beautiful, from all the raving Marcus had done about her in the last days of their relationship. Angelina smiled fondly, wanted to touch the boy’s gentle looking face. While his father was angular, the boy was more rounded and gentle, cheeks reddened from the situation and the cold outside. She chuckled fondly.

“Let me guess, it’s the boy’s first time?” She said gently and laughed openly when his face darkened considerably to nearly a shade that matched her hair.

“He is getting married in three months,” Marcus began, “but I just recently found out he has no experience!” The man raved as the boy attempted to shrink further and further into the seat. “Never once went to a woman of your employment for pleasure or experience, never even asked me. The boy is too shy about sex it seems-he gets that from his mother you know-so I decided to fix the problem. After all, the time I spent with you did nothing but good to prepare me for my time with Michelle.” He said and Angelina laughed again.

“Well, I wouldn’t say I am an excellent wedding advisor, Marcus, but sexual experience is something I _can_ teach.” She said with a sultry smile, making the boy’s face turn even redder. “Oh, Marcus, _sweetie_ , he is too _cute_. When?” She asked.

“When is your next opening for a three day....rental?” He asked.

“Hmmm.” Angelina hummed to herself as she thought, taking a drink from the cup that had appeared before her thanks to the waiter. “I believe I have three days free two weeks from now, but I will have to check with the Madam. How about I send a messenger to your home in a few days to let you know?” She offered and the man nodded.

“Excellent. I will secure the payment then.” He said and she nodded.

Once again the waiter appeared again to take food orders.

\--

That evening had been the most eventful Angelina remembered since the war ended. Meyrin had brought home a little stray who was on the doorstep of death, and Angelina felt the instinct to protect and heal again rise within her. It felt good, to be working at the medical trade again after so long. It brought her back to a time when she had been working as a nurse aid on the front lines; she had been so young then. A young girl of only fourteen, running aid to each and every one of the nurses working at the bedsides of sick and dying soldiers. It had been busy and taxing work, the stress levels of the nurses causing her own stress to fly through the roof. Seeing so many die, so many men spend countless days suffering only in order to finally give their last breaths far away from home; she found the life of a prostitute far more kind in comparison. The illusion of love and happiness she kept up with the help of the other workers was like a drug, a blessed change of pace from the true horror of the real world. Perhaps that is why so many had flocked to the brothels in hope of this hallucination.

But this tiny form; this tiny boy had brought back all the memories of those nights spent ducking from the weapons and search lights of the planes. The days spent holding a soldier’s hand as he told her the stories of the family he’d never see again. The tragedy of those days resurfaced and she found herself once again in the numbness of saving a life. She hated Meyrin for bringing such a memory back in the form of a boy, but as she watched the color return to his skin and the breath in his lungs become stronger, she found that she once again felt a joy she had not felt in _years_. All the time spent in a lie, the lie of being nothing more than a common street worker was blown away by the joy of saving a life. And she _missed it_. She _longed for it_.

She was the one who decided they had to keep the boy. What good was her saving his life only to send him back in the cold and exposure? But it was dangerous to keep a child at the brothel, since young children often ruined the image of perfection and escape the brothel stood to achieve. They would have to keep him hidden, and for a long time, until he was old enough to either join the work or find an apprenticeship somewhere else. But that idea brought a new problem Angelina was not fully prepared to deal with: the boy needed an education. He was only four years old, and clearly a war orphan. But he was British, from his accent, and one of the “lost nobles” who had been wiped out in the war. Angelina had heard the boy’s last name before, but as far as she knew, the last of the boy’s line had gone off to war and died. Without any lineage to protect him, he was the same as any of the other nameless orphans on the street. But Angelina would change that. She had been educated as a child as a member of British nobility herself, so she could teach the boy to read, write and basic arithmetic. Most of her education had been in dancing, painting, singing and medical work, useless things for a boy.

But English was one of her strong suites, and she knew French as well, which would give the boy an edge if he could make it outside France. And basic medical training did no one any harm, and someday he might get caught alone with a large gnash and no doctor nearby; it was decided, she would teach him what she knew.

It took them a while for the boy to actually trust them and talk to them. He was terrified that they would send him back, and it took many nights of Meyrin coaxing him out of his shell for the boy to finally open up, and instantly Angelina fell in love. He had a beautifully curious mind, eager to learn and perfect, a mind beyond anything Angelina had ever encountered. What books she managed to get her patrons to part with were devoured in a matter of days when the boy learned to read, and he seemed to be ravenous for more. He was always asking questions: how did that work; what was that; who wrote that; why is it that way; can that be changed? He was brimming with questions that could not always be answered, but his intelligence was easily sated by watching people.

It was a dangerous habit Ciel had acquired upon turning nine. He would climb up in to the rafters above the lobby and watch the people below talk and interact. Angelina was furious at him for doing it, but there was nothing the busy woman could do to stop him. None of his “mothers”--as he called the three of them--were around for the majority of the day. Sometimes they had days off where they were not needed up in the lobby or in front on the streets (though never at the same time), but those days were few and far between. The boy was alone during the day, and that made Angelina worry profusely for a while until she decided that Ciel was incredibly good at hiding himself from the guards on duty.

Another problem that plagued Angelina’s mind was how beautiful her “son” was growing. He had been adorable when he was small, and as he grew the adorable turned to cute, turned to beautiful. He was still very feminine at age eleven, with short black-grey hair that seemed to shine no matter how dirty it got or how few and far between his baths were. And his eyes, wide and full of curiosity and mischief, were blue as the Egyptian Lapis stones rich women wore as trophies around their necks. They might as well have been, for Angelina was sure Ciel’s eyes had been stolen from some lost Egyptian tomb somewhere and placed in the possession of her beloved little boy. His skin was fair and next to flawless, a few small scars from misplaced feet during climbs or missteps that led him into doors or tables. He was pale, no doubt, and looked sometimes like a doll. It would not be long until someone caught sight of the beautiful boy she and her co-parents raised in secret. She dreaded that day when her precious little one would be spotted and taken away or worse, forced into using his beauty for the brothel. He would attract many customers; however, that was not the life she wanted for her boy.

She would keep him safe, like the treasure he was, and would find some way to get him out of the brothel before it was too late. She owed him that much, since she was probably the strictest of his mothers, and often yelled at him when he did not take his studies serious. She sometimes worried that he hated her, but that was a small price to pay for getting him out of this gilded cage. No, she would take his anger and backlash hatred, as long as her precious little bird got to fly away from this hell house.


	4. Until I'm Free Falling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that a plot I smell? It isssss..........

“Be good, Ciel.”

The standard warning slash goodbye from his mothers rung in his ears as the boy made his way up into the rafters above the brothel. Many people would have taken it as “stay put, don’t move and stay hidden” but Ciel knew better. After living with the same three women (though one was actually a man) for ten years, the fourteen year old knew what they really meant. It was not a warning to stay out of trouble, it was advice to stay out of _too much_ trouble. It was a warning to not get caught in his daily activities. The warning was rather redundant though, by this point anyway, as he had never been caught by anyone of importance. True, a few of the other whores had caught sight of him, but he had quickly charmed them into silence. All he had to do was bat his eyelashes and send them a wide-eyed innocent gaze and there was no one who could refuse him something, not Madam Red, not Grell, and certainly no child-deprived whore in the brothel.

He perched on his favorite spot above the lobby and unwrapped a lollipop he had bought the other day with the leftovers from Grell’s tips. Sticking the candy into his mouth, he watched the men begin to file in to the brothel like a line of worker ants. The boy snickered to himself at the sight, popping the candy from his mouth when Meyrin looked up at him briefly. He sent her a smile and closed the red-colored silk fabrics closer around his hiding spot that he had been building for years now. Putting the sugary treat back into his mouth and moving the stick to the side of his lips, he watched as the brothel slowly rose to greet the day. Meyrin was working the lobby today with other young prostitutes. She was dressed as a maid, but the skirt was cut up and seemed to be caught in her underwear on the right side. This was on purpose, of course, and gave the entering men an eyeful of her legs that were bound in fishnet stockings that were tied to her black undergarment by garters. Some fashions would never change, despite the world outside continuing to move forward.

Grell passed through the room, dressed to the nines in a bright scarlet gown covered with ruffles and laces of varying pinks, blacks and silvers. The top ended in a corset that hugged his odd curves (probably the aftermath of using a corset for so long), elbow long black gloves offset the gown elegantly as the man-posing-as-a-woman made his way to the front door. Ciel chewed on the stick absentmindedly; Grell was working the streets today. It was spring now, so it was warm enough for the workers to work the streets in front or near the brothel. They all had special passes to show the police in case one of the members of the police force decided to question their presence. After all, brothel prostitutes were legal (probably because they could be taxed) and brothel-less street walkers would be arrested on spot. Ciel watched his male mother leave the building with a dramatic sweep before resuming his sightseeing.

He spotted Angelina, known as Madam Red when she was working, writing in a book near the front where one of the guards stood. _Ah, right._ Ciel thought to himself. _She has an appointment today with a nobleman from Germany._ He mused, watching the woman write in the book with as much ease as one could expect from a woman who had done this many times. She was dressed more simply, a muted wine color making up her meeting gown this time. The style of the dress was very common for middle class women in France now, and it was pressed and looked a little uncomfortable from where Ciel sat. So this was a new possible client. It was common practice for Black Lace to send a sort of ambassador to new possible clients who had a lot of money and power. Madam Red was the perfect fit for such a task, as she was more educated than most of the other workers. Not to mention she carried herself as a noblewoman still, despite having lost everything during the war.

She finished signing the book and left the brothel, opening a red parasol as she exited and Ciel felt a smile tug at his lips. Everyone in the Red Light knew that parasol and other whores had been known to clear out when they saw the parasol in the distance. Madam Red was a well-known client stealer, with her witty tongue and well-educated conversation. Not to mention, she was beautiful, or so Ciel had been told by the word he heard from the men below when they spoke to her. Ciel really had no concept of a person being beautiful, he only had his comparison of how his mothers looked versus how a single person looked. Perhaps it was wrong, but not many people measured up to his version of beauty laid down by where he lived. The illusion of beauty that choked the area was false at best, but it was all Ciel had to compare to. The world outside was colorless and plain, full of despair and an endless rift between poor and rich that made him nauseous.

But there was only so much he could take of the illusion of the brothel. The pointless rushing about of the whores as they flocked to gain the attention of the greedy and starved men was sickening after a while, and the lollipop in Ciel’s mouth quickly turned bitter and rotten as he viewed the desperate men pine after something that would never exist for them. The drug known as lust poured from the prostitutes in waves, and like starving worms, the men and women who flocked to the brothel lapped it up, becoming high with the feeling of pleasure and a false sense of love. They then would blindly follow a whore back into a private place to perform a public art. It was fast, repetitive, like spinning around in circles over and over, and Ciel had to look away before he became dizzy. Biting down on the stick of his candy, Ciel slowly made his way down from his hiding spot with practiced grace. It was second nature now, getting up and down from his spot above the lobby.

Once his feet made contact with the solid floor, Ciel made his way back into the room he shared with his three co-parents. He closed the door tightly behind him and gathered up some spare clothes from the floor he decided would work as a whole outfit. Once he was dressed, albeit a little mismatched, he looked in the mirror Grell always used and decided to brush his hair. Once it was as straight as he liked, he decided he looked presentable enough to do some actual work. He took the key from inside Angelina’s jewelry box and unlocked the door that was at the back of the room, the door to the alleyway between the brothel and the bathhouse. He walked out and shut the door, locking it behind him and putting the key safely into his pocket before continuing to the opening of the ally. He looked around the corner, taking into account all the whores at the front of the brothel before he decided it was best to probably work the next street over for his personal work.

Sticking to the shadows and crowds of people, Ciel made his way to the next street over away from the brothel without being spotted or have attention called to him. It was always the hardest part, walking away from the brothel. Returning was the easy part because he always returned in the evening when the brothel was closing and the whores were making their way back in to the structure for the night. Not to mention it was darker and he blended with the shadows easily. The next street over was much more empty from the hustle and bustle of an opening brothel. There was another brothel here, yes, but Black Lace seemed to be the most popular so these brothels had much less traffic. Perfect pickings for a worker like Ciel.

His art was one he found incredibly easy to perform and it did not involve the dangers his mothers’ work did. No, he did not work the streets as a prostitute or an “easy buy”, he was a seller of quite a different illusion. He made people believe the lie he made for himself, and got what he wanted as payment for his flawless performance. Ciel was a con-artist. And he had a new lie for every person he came across. For the woman with two boys, he was a lost kid who could not find his parents; for the man with money pouring from his pockets and eyes as greedy as a wolf’s, he was the innocent begging orphan who would do _anything_ for his next meal. And he was such a flawless actor, he always got his payment before his end of the deal was called into question. He would vanish after being paid, no one on the street even acknowledging his existence because those who lived and worked in the Red rarely turned each other in. He never bothered streetwalkers and he kept his work away from the brothels, so no one felt the need to turn him in for his little independent work.

He smirked to himself as he spotted a young man who was clearly wealthy from the clothing he wore. He was slightly outside the Red Light in the more domestic areas, which meant trouble for Ciel if he got questioned, but the payment was enough to justify the risk. He would easily get enough to buy some sweets for him and his mothers with the money he could take from that man. But his thoughts were halted when the man was joined by several older men. Ciel cursed under his breath and backed off a bit. Older men were harder to convince, they had more experience chasing off unwanteds, and would prove difficult if Ciel had even a crack in his mask. If he was planning on taking on such an advanced group, he would need a flawless performance, complete with a history no one could prove or disprove. Deciding to go with the time-honored success of the beggar boy, he pulled himself into an alleyway nearby and gave his clothes a good dusting of the ally dirt before smudging his face with dirt and mud.

He tore his shirt a bit, exposing what Grell called “the right amount of skin”, and cut his knuckles on the bricks, smudging some thin blood across his cheeks. His appearance was now flawless, and he did not have the time nor desire to complete the physical illusion with scent. He smirked to himself and wrapped his hands in the ripped cloth of the shirt. The men were getting closer and Ciel decided he would really have to sell this one. Taking a handful of the fine coal dust from the alleyway, Ciel inhaled the substance, triggering a nasty set of coughs that for a moment had Ciel worried he had triggered an asthma attack. But the coughing got weaker and more manageable in time and Ciel looked up to see the group of men staring at him. Wiping tears from his eyes, Ciel crawled towards the men.

“P-Please-“ He coughed again, coal dust coating his hands like paint, “anything you can-“ another cough and wheeze “-can spare?” He finished pathetically, reaching out a dirty hand towards the young man he intended to con before. The older men pulled back slightly, trying to pull the young man with them, but he stepped forward.

“You poor thing, how long have you been living like this?” He asked gently.

“A f-few months.” Ciel responded. “I escaped from the coal factory near the docks. I thought I co-could get work with one of the tradesmen here, but-“ he coughed again, finally getting the last of the substance from his lungs, “but none of them would help me. I can’t go back, sir, I can’t. They’d whip me sure as they saw me, they would.” He explained. “I just need enough coppers to convince a sailor down at the docks to let me on the fishing boats, sir. But this winter was a bad one, sir. Spent all the coppers I had been saving on a coat, but it got stolen, it did.” He said, adding a pathetic whimper to his voice.

“Leave ‘im, Matthews, there’s dime a dozen with a story like ‘is.” The voice of one of the older men almost made Ciel scowl. But his face remained pleading, though he pulled back his arm a bit, appearing as if he was losing hope in getting the money he desperately needed.

“Come now, Mr. Withers. Surely this boy could use our help.” Came the response of the young Mr. Matthews.

“That’s what they play off, those little whelps. Pull on yor heart strings to get yor coppers and then vanish quick as a fox.” Another one said. “Won’t do a wink of good to help ‘im. He’ll just be back at it tomorrow.”

These men were smart, and recognized Ciel was probably lying, but all he had to do was entrap the young one and he would consider this a success. He once again sent a pleading glance at the younger man, shuffling forward and lifting his head, letting his eyes catch the light and the light to catch his skin as well. He heard the gasp of the younger man, and felt the stirring of the older men. Grell had often made the comment that he could get whatever he wanted just by flaunting his looks a little, but Ciel did not entirely understand. He only knew that he often finished a con by letting people look into his eyes rather than away.

“If we ignore the poor further, gentlemen, the world will never get any better.” Mr. Matthews responded, resolve in his voice as he fished out his wallet and handed several francs into Ciel’s open palm. It was more than the boy expected, but when the younger man sent an expectant glare to his older companions, they refused, just as Ciel expected (though he would have liked to have been able to swindle them too, some people were just _too_ smart). The huffs of the men were clear as they dragged Mr. Matthews away before yet another street urchin stole from their pockets. Ciel smirked to himself before laughing and standing, dusting his clothing off as best as he could and washing his hands and face in a nearby rain barrel.

“Oh yes, Mr. Matthews, thank you for making the world a better place.” He snickered as he pocketed the money. Making his way to the sweet shop, Ciel felt himself step lightly as he entered his favorite shop in the domestic district of the slums.

“Good morning, Ciel. I see you found some donors today.” Came the comment from the woman across the counter. She was as young as Ciel was, perhaps a year or two older, and had some of the blondest hair Ciel had ever come across. It was long and curly, reaching nearly to her waist even though she kept it up in twin pony tails. Her emerald eyes were as brilliant as Ciel’s twin sapphires and though she was clearly from a well-off family of middle-class workers, she worked in a slum shop happily. Ciel appreciated her humility, finding it a refreshing truth in his world of illusion and lies. He strode up to the counter and nodded at her, placing his pay out for the day on the counter.

“What can I get for this, Lizzie?” He asked the girl. Elizabeth looked over the money and counted it before doing some calculations in her head.

“Haven’t you learned to count money yet?” She teased gently and giggled when his face turned red.

“Mother has no money left over to teach me. All her tips come in as dresses or perfumes, not coppers or silvers. And when Momma or Mom get tips, she is never around to teach me.” He confessed, glaring at the girl who just giggled and got some of the candy sticks she knew Ciel enjoyed.

“I could teach you, Ciel.” The girl offered and Ciel shrugged.

“When I actually get a use for counting money, I’ll let you teach me.” He said and Elizabeth sighed.

“Very well.” She conceded and finished bagging the candies. She took the payment from what Ciel had paid on the counter, which was all of it (and she slipped an extra lollipop in there, but she would never tell him that), and handed the bag to Ciel. The boy took it greedily and winked at her before leaving the store.

Putting one of the candy sticks into his mouth, Ciel spotted another prime target. The man was alone and looked nervous and jumpy, as if he had never been to the slums before. _Perfect_. Ciel smirked to himself before tucking the candy stick back into the bag and putting the bag into the inside of his shirt before walking up to the man.

“Sir?” He called out, making the man jump rather noticeably. Ciel chuckled inwardly, he would be easy prey.

“Yes, boy, what is it?” The man demanded, trying to sound more intimidating than he felt.

“Are you lost?” Ciel asked innocently, rocking back and forth on his feet like a curious five year old. The man was put at ease and shook his head.

“I am looking for a place called ‘Black Lace’, it’s a......business that is supposed to be here in the slums. My friends all said it was the best place to hire a pros-temporary helper for a night or two.” He said, covering up the words he probably thought Ciel was too young to hear. Ciel had to stop himself from laughing at the man’s prude-ness.

“Oh, I haven’t heard of a place like that, but I’m looking for Mama and Papa. Maybe we could walk together and maybe we’ll find what we’re looking for together?” Ciel offered, already taking the man’s arm. “I feel much safer with you.” He commented, inwardly laughing.

The man seemed to straighten up as if he was a knight and he walked down the streets with Ciel babbling excitedly on his arm. Ciel poured out lies about his imaginary family, telling the man about his baby sister and mother and father and how they were just so wonderful and next week was little sister’s birthday and they were birthday present shopping when Ciel got separated looking in a candy shop and wasn’t that stuffed rabbit just the best gift a big brother could give to his little sister? Ciel had yet to even shut up for a moment to let the man respond before he just went on like a wide-eyed little angel of a boy and he could feel the man falling deeper and deeper into the story when Ciel stopped in front of a wood-crafter’s store. Deciding to make his move, Ciel just stared into the window at a heart-shaped box that had glass and shell finishing on the top, making it shine beautiful like a treasure box.

“What’s that, lad?” The man asked and Ciel pulled up some tears before looking at the man.

“Oh it’s nothing, I just really wanted to get this for my sister, but the shopkeeper gave a price to Papa and Mama said we couldn’t afford it this year. It’s just so upsetting because I really wanted to get this for her so I could put all sorts of memories in it for her when she gets older.” Ciel sobbed pathetically, pulling his hand away from the glass and walking back to the man.

The man ate it up and swallowed guiltily. “I.....I suppose I could buy it for you.” He offered and instantly Ciel’s face brightened. But then it fell again.

“But if you buy it, it won’t be as special as if I bought it.” He said and the man nodded slowly.

“How about this, then, I give you the money for it and you buy it for your sister?” He said, Ciel’s face brightening like a light until a big smile covered his face.

“That’s a great idea!” He said, bouncing on his feet as if he was five and not fourteen.

The man quickly pulled out his wallet and pulled out a large clump of bills and pushed them into Ciel’s hand, almost making Ciel’s heart stop.

“Is this enough?” The man asked and Ciel nodded slowly.

“Yes. Thank you so much! I’m gonna go find Mama and Papa and tell them the good news!” He said before running off excitedly, shouting ‘mama’ and ‘papa’ as he went, ignoring the man’s pleas for him to stay close and not run off.

Once Ciel was far enough away, he ducked into an alleyway and laughed. This was the most he had ever managed to swindle from a person, and he was giddy. Stuffing the bills into his pocket, Ciel leaned his head back against the bricks and laughed until the sound faded. It was a great day, and the sun was only half-way through its trek across the sky. Another stupid man like that and Ciel would be able to buy dinner for his mothers. As his laughter faded and his breathing returned to normal, Ciel felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up on end. Someone was looking at him. He turned his head to the side and felt his entire body freeze up when he met the eyes of a man across the street. The man’s eyes were vermillion, redder than even Angelina’s, and his hair was black as pitch tar. He was tall and svelte, and everything about him sent warning bells off in Ciel’s head. The man looked at him with a gaze that sent a message clear as a bell. _I know what you did_.

Ciel panicked. For the first time in his life he panicked. He quickly broke the older man’s gaze and he darted down the street further and towards the brothel. Something about that man unnerved him, and he suddenly wanted to just curl up in bed and wait for his parents to get back from work.


	5. I Will do What I Want

Grell was the first one home that night, and Ciel was very happy to see him. He was still shaken up about that man from earlier, and wanted nothing more than the routine of home, even if it meant the rather brash and hard-edge of his male mother. Meyrin would be along later and Angelina would most likely not return until late into the night if not the next day. She had leave to take as much as was needed to secure a new client for the brothel, and sometimes it took up to a week. Though Ciel expected that it was because she liked to be away from the confines of the brothel and not just because she was working on getting a new client. However, even if he was just staying the night with Grell, it was better than sitting alone and musing over the black-haired man’s curious gaze.

“Have a good day, brat?” The voice of Grell was as obnoxious and condescending as it was welcome to the small fourteen year old.

“Got a big haul, yeah.” He replied absentmindedly.

“So, let me see and I’ll give you a gift.” Grell said and Ciel nodded and stood, walking over to the man’s bed. He sat next to the man on the bed and emptied his pockets of the bills he had been handed by the nice gentleman. Grell’s eyes nearly popped from his sockets at the site. “Ciel! This is nearly double what I make in a week!” He exclaimed.

Ciel looked at him with an expression that was half astounded and half uncaring. He was surprised the man gave him that much, but at the same time, the worry over the black-haired man was tugging at him viciously. What if the man had seen him run into the brothel? Every noise made Ciel think the police had come to take him away and arrest him for thievery. Or worse, that the Madam and brothel Owner knew of his presence and would surely be kicked out of the brothel with nowhere to go. He would starve, freeze to death, and what of his mothers? They would be punished, kicked out as well, and women fared far worse on the street than he would. At least he could run away to the docks and take ship as a cabin boy or join the army as an apprentice. Meyrin and Angelina would become street walkers or end up in jail. The idea terrified Ciel. And Grell would probably be executed or imprisoned for life for being homosexual and a cross dresser.

“Brat, are you okay?”

Ciel looked up at his momma of ten years and realized he’d probably been staring off into space. The unusual gentleness of Grell’s voice meant Ciel had looked distressed. Though he never acted like it, Grell was probably the most protective of his parents. Grell had often raised hell and high water when Ciel came home from working in tears, demanding names or descriptions or the location of the brick that scraped his knee so Grell could take revenge on it. The over dramatic behavior of his male mother was cause for amusement that often cheered Ciel up faster than if Grell truly _had_ murdered the brick that made him trip and skin his knee. Ciel smiled a little at the memory and nodded at Grell.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just had a bit of a scare. I think I almost got caught today.” He said and Grell nodded slowly, as if he did not entirely understand the situation. That was probably likely, seeing as Grell did not understand much outside of sex, fashion, violent ways to harm inanimate objects and his taste in men. If something did not involve one of those four things, it was probably not the best to ask Grell for advice. But his momma was nothing if not stubborn and persevering.

“Anything I can do?” He offered, though Ciel suspected he already knew the answer was no. Grell was horrible at reading people and their emotions, but he could at least tell when there was nothing he could do. But it was common human courtesy to at least offer assistance, even though nothing could be done.

“No. I’ll just be more careful tomorrow.” Ciel said and Grell nodded, taking the bills from the blankets and stuffing them into the bottom of one of his jewelry boxes. That was where Grell, Angelina and Meyrin had be storing their extra tips along with the money Ciel made from conning. That was how they bought dinner some nights, and others were given to Ciel to make purchases in the shops outside of the brothel’s permission. It was technically illegal by the rules of the brothel, but many of the prostitutes did it. And as long as the purchases were nothing huge like dresses or ornate jewelry, it was a practice that was very much overlooked by both the Madam and the owner.

“You’re going out again?” Grell asked. “You could stay here for a bit and let this problem of yours blow over.”

Ciel shook his head. “No, it’s alright. I’ll just go down a different street.” He said with a shrug, feeling the weight of the paper bag shift and he pulled the purchase from his shirt. “I almost forgot,” he said with a grin, “I bought all of us some candy sticks and lollipops today.” He proclaimed proudly, opening the bag and dumping the six candy sticks on the bed. Grell chuckled and grabbed a cinnamon flavored stick before popping it into his mouth and beginning to strip off his working clothes. While it was true he felt the most comfortable in women’s clothing, the dresses and outfits he had to wear to get customers were uncomfortable at best. Ciel watched the man’s transformation with an almost incredible awe as he always did.

It was almost beautiful, watching Grell’s transformation from common brothel woman to laid back man. His hair was still the length of his body and he preferred to keep his makeup on, but once he donned his trousers, shirt and vest, he seemed more _real_. It was like watching a butterfly come at his face and then suddenly you discover it was really a leaf that hits your face, not the butterfly you thought it was. Just as brilliant, but far less fanciful. Ciel smiled to himself as the man before him sat in the seat in front of his personal vanity. The man was beautiful, of that Ciel was positive, but he seemed so obviously fake when he was outside of this room.

“How is it you can pretend day after day that this is what you love doing?” Ciel asked and Grell laughed.

“Because that is exactly what it is, dear one, pretending. I pretend to love it here, I pretend to love being a man, I pretend to love and have affection for my clients and I pretend to not have any dreams. Anyone can fake a smile, brat, but it takes a true _actress_ to be able to smile for real even though she’s lying. And I am the finest actress there is. Because I put on an act so real, that for a moment, even I believe the falsehood I’ve woven.” He replied.

“So you believe your own lie?”

“Naturally. It’s a key part to living here in the Red, dearest brat. You have to pretend nothing bothers you, nothing troubles you and that you are truly happy. That’s what the men come for. The illusion that everything is alright and perfect.” He said again and Ciel nodded.

Pretending......that was something Ciel had no trouble doing.

\--

The next day happened just the same as all the other days. His mothers left for their respective jobs in the brothel while Ciel stayed behind to prepare for a day of working the heart strings and easy minds of the Red Light virgins who would know no better. HE decided that he would try to do as Grell did: believe his own lie. If it worked, Ciel would do it more often, but if it did not, well Grell was not always supposed to be listened too seriously. He donned his raggedy torn shirt from before, but grabbed some new trousers and put them on before adding some gloves to the mix. They were black and made of some fabric made to resemble leather, Angelina had given them to him as a birthday gift last year. And interesting thing, his birthday, since they just decided to pick a day close to when they found him since Ciel could not remember his actual birthday. December fourteenth ended up being the day they celebrated his birthday, and Ciel accepted it.

Once the gloves were in place and strapped on, Ciel grabbed the back door key and headed out, this time towards the back of the ally and to the street behind the Black Lace. Once he deemed the streets clear enough for his continue, Ciel took off in a run down the streets, going no particular direction, just running. He spotted a rich man just up the street and took into a sprint, running head long in to the man. He heard the man’s gasp of surprise and huff of lost breath as Ciel’s small form collided with him and sent them tumbling to the ground. Ciel was quick to untangle himself from the man and backed away quickly.

“I-I’m sorry!” He shouted. “I didn’t mean to run into you, I swear it! I just.....I thought I saw....” He panted, unable to finish a sentence as the man stood and dusted his pants off.

“No harm done, dear boy. What is troubling you so much that you ran in to me?” The man asked, taking Ciel by the wrist so he could not run again. Ciel trembled.

“I-I thought I saw someone f-following me. My older brother said he would pick me up by the dress shop when he was done meeting with his friend, b-but it’s been hours and he hasn’t come yet! S-s-so when I saw a big scary guy coming towards me, I thought for sure he would hurt me, so I just ran and now I don’t know where I am and I’m sure my brother is worried since he was going to take me out to breakfast later and I just-“ Ciel’s ranting was cut short by the man putting a hand over his mouth.

“Hush, lad. No need to panic. There’s no one behind you now. Let’s go find your brother together.” He said gently, calming Ciel down.

“O-okay.”

“Would you like to get some breakfast with me instead?” The man asked and Ciel nodded slowly.

“I-I guess that would be alright, if you d-don’t mind. I mean, I can wait until he finds us....” As if on cue, Ciel’s stomach growled in protest, making the boy blush a bit and look away, causing the man to chuckle.

“Come on, lad, breakfast is this way.” He said, leading the boy with a hand to the small of his back. Ciel nodded and followed the man to food, smiling with genuine thanks.

\--

The French were nothing if not plentiful with their food; Ciel felt like he had eaten more than he would in his life in one sitting. Thick foods made of potatoes, eggs, German meats and thick fruit sauces, Ciel had never seen so much food in one sitting. And eating it all had left Ciel slow and contended as he wandered the streets with his gentleman donor. He looked in and out of the windows of the shops that lined the streets, spotting things he one day wanted to buy his mothers for holidays such as Christmas or their own birthdays. He spotted a red and pink striped scarf of British make he was certain Grell would love when it got colder (the man had always complained about working the street when it started to snow), and if anyone could make the plainness of British sewing-craft work, it was Grell. And he spotted a small glass beaded hairpin that sparkled like anything the fancy ladies had that would be beautiful against Meyrin’s stunning auburn locks. She would look every bit as lovely as the older women who had patrons or regular clients, something that Meyrin often struggled with.

It was while he was looking at a possible gift idea for Angelina when he felt the man’s eyes on him. Being well-trained in being careful, Ciel was instantly on alert. It was not like the gaze of the man from the day before, no, it was far different. It was a gaze Ciel had never felt before; it was hard and studying. It made Ciel feel as if he was on display and instantly a huge red flag waved in his head, bright as Angelina’s hair. He suddenly felt the need to take off in a run towards wherever Grell might be, or just run in general. But just as quickly as the feeling came, it vanished, and Ciel knew the man had ceased watching him. Ciel very carefully got his composure back, still feigning looking at the things in the window, before turning around to face the man who had been so generous with his money earlier. In order for this to work, Ciel would have to push back his coiled tension and relax himself. The man could not know that Ciel was suspicious of him, so Ciel had to stop being suspicious. Like Grell said; believe his own lie. He smiled at the man again and the man smiled back.

“Finished window shopping, my boy?” He asked and Ciel nodded.

“Yep. But none of these places look like the dress shop where brother was supposed to meet me.” Ciel added, looking around confused. “Or really anything by it. I couldn’t have run _that_ far away, could I?” He asked the man rhetorically.

“I’m sure we’ll find it. Come along.” The man responded and Ciel obediently followed, latching on to the man’s arm and looked around excitedly. He felt the hard watching gaze on him again, but this time swallowed his worry in order to keep the outside looking perfect. He could tell that he was close to a big break through and would make another big haul today if he could just charm the man out of some more money. The man seemed loaded, and that was Ciel’s goal. Not like he would truly be taking anything the man could probably not replace.

Stopping again at another window, he spotted a red French lace fan with black feathers adorning the edges, clearly more of a visual piece than to be used as an actual fan. Its handle was also black, hiding the bright red fabric of the fan, and was adorned with gold floral swirls like Ciel had seen in many of the books about French royals he had read about. It was a piece of artwork, and indescribably perfect for Angelina. Angelina used to have a red and black fan but Ciel had accidentally broken it during one of their fights. Angelina had not spoken to him for a week after that and the guilt ate away at Ciel every time he thought about it. It had been one of the last things her husband had given her before he went off to war and died, and Ciel had just senselessly broken it. If he could get that fan, the one in the window, he knew it would make things better. It was far more ornate than her previous one, but Ciel knew from the moment he saw it that Angelina would love it. He cursed his inability to read money and understand it, for he could not understand the price tag, other than the number was rather big. Maybe he should have taken Elizabeth up on her offer to teach him how to count money.

“See something interesting, pet?” The man behind him asked and Ciel nodded absentmindedly, not even noticing the alarm bells when the man stepped closer. “A fan?” The man asked curiously.

“I broke my mother’s.” Ciel answered simply and the man nodded with a chuckle.

“I see. Must have been an important fan for you to be staring so intently on this one.” The man concluded and Ciel nodded again, again not paying attention as he attempted to make sense of the price using the addition he had been taught. So far he had concluded that the numbers on the price tag were more than fifty. Ciel suddenly felt really stupid, a feeling he truly despised. He made his decision, he would go to Elizabeth tomorrow and ask her to teach him about money.

He felt a hand snake up his back and he stiffened and jumped away. He heard the man chuckled.

“I apologize. I did not mean to startle you.” He said as Ciel moved to the side away from his hand. “If it is that important, how about I give you some money to put towards buying it? Not the full price, mind you, but enough for a smart boy like you to be able to work with?” He asked and Ciel was instantly suspicious. Being able to “work” with the money meant the man would give him enough to haggle with the shop owner and probably succeed. Now, Ciel was terrible with money numbers, but he knew that the price on the fan was more than one man would give to a lost boy.

“I think I can manage. I’ll just save up my weekly allowance.” He said, not really believing the words coming out of his mouth. Just earlier he had wanted the money the man was clearly carrying, but all the warning signs in his head made him just want to leave the man behind, penniless. Something told him that would be safer.

“Full price then. Right now.” The man insisted and suddenly Ciel understood. The man was bartering for something; he was haggling with Ciel as if Ciel was selling something.

“I’m sorry.....I am afraid I do not understand.” He said, backing away from the man until his back was against the wall. He cursed under his breath. He was cornered now as the man came so close the heat from his skin seeped into Ciel’s clothing. The feeling was most unpleasant, like being smiled at by the person across the room no one wants to go near. The heat made him feel suddenly dirty, and Ciel began to move his hands as if he washing them without realizing it. But no matter how much he rubbed his hands, the feeling remained.

“Don’t you, pet? You are a clever little thing, latching on to me like that with such a sob story, but you and I both know what you really want. Really, dear boy, all you had to do was offer straight up front. I would have eagerly paid for you.” The man said and confusion marred Ciel’s features for a moment.

Then it clicked. Like the being pushed through three panes of glass, Ciel suddenly understood, and the knowledge left Ciel feeling like he was naked and bleeding for the world to see. “W-wait. You think I’m a.....” He trailed off, face heating up with both embarrassment and anger.

“You must get many customers with a face like that, pet.” The man said, voice deepening as he grabbed Ciel’s face.

Never before had Ciel felt so vulnerable. He could normally talk his way out of almost any situation and when that failed, he was quick to run away to someplace he knew would be safe. This time was different, this time the man had been leading him about. He was in a part of the domestic slums he had never been too before, there was no sign of the Red Light nearby and he could not even hear the sounds of the music that came from the brothel. He was completely exposed. He attempted to struggle away, only to find the man pinning his arms gently, but tightly. The man leaned in and began to kiss Ciel’s neck and the boy hissed and struggled, cursing his small stature and refusal to accept Grell’s many offers to teach him how to incapacitate a man in a bad situation. When the man bit his neck, Ciel made his protest vocal, not to mention it hurt.

The next thing he knew, the man had been pushed from him and was now laying on the ground, knocked out and money falling from his pockets. Ciel stared at him a moment before turning his head towards the direction of the attack, only to find the same pair of vermillion eyes from the day before looking him dead in the face. Ciel instantly tried to bolt, but this new man had also cut off his retreat and Ciel wondered if he’d ever be able to escape. But the man did nothing but look at him, eyes clearly waiting for Ciel to defend himself.

“I’m not a whore.” Was the first thing Ciel said, his tone far more vicious than it needed to be, but he was nervous.

The man chuckled. “I assumed not, from how you were protesting earlier. A whore would not have done that.” He responded and Ciel’s cheeks lit aflame.

“What do you want from me?!” He snapped. “Look! Take the money the guy has and was going to pay me for services not willingly rendered! Will that buy your silence, ‘cause that’s all I can give you.” Ciel growled.

“I don’t want money.” The man said and Ciel hissed at him. He chuckled again and once again Ciel felt stupid, which fueled his temper. “I have no need for money.” The man stated and Ciel felt afraid again. When the man moved towards him, Ciel saw his opportunity and took it, bolting past the man and down an ally.

He’d find his own way home and probably stay inside forever.


	6. I Will Rage 'til the Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She looked Ciel dead in the face and her lips firmed into a straight line. “There’s someone at the front to see you, Ciel.” She stated and Ciel felt his heart stop.

Ciel had returned to the brothel in less time than he believed it would take. It was only mid-afternoon when he arrived, and he slipped into the back ally without looking around first, uncaring if anyone saw him. He just wanted to curl up in his and Meyrin’s bed and stay there forever. He took the key from his back pocket and unlocked the alleyway door before he walked in and shut it, locking it behind him. He pushed away the long red curtain that covered the door from view and found the room empty, not surprising, but a little disappointing. But Ciel shrugged, stripped off his shirt and fell down on to the small bed he had shared with Meyrin since he was four. He found that he could not sleep, for his mind was too preoccupied with what had happened that morning to allow him the luxury of sleeping. He closed his eyes and sighed, pulling the blanket up over his head and laid still, letting the memories flow over him so he could deal with them and successfully fall asleep.

How had he allowed that man to get so close without getting away when he could? Well, the answer for that one was easy: because Ciel wanted the money the man carried. He was not overly greedy, but Ciel did have a streak of avarice that had gotten him into trouble before. Not of this level, but he had gotten into arguments with almost everyone who cared about him because of his selfish desires and tunnel vision of greed when it came to what he wanted. Ciel was a stubborn boy, probably learned from Angelina, and had no qualms with doing whatever was necessary to gain what he wanted, a charming trait from Grell. But he at least had the patience and self-control to know when he should stop and just be patient, something Meyrin ground in to him from the start. While he was as good at watching his prey and manipulating people, he had made a fatal mistake today: underestimated his opponent. But now he knew to never assume a person walking the street to be as stupid as the drunken regulars of a lower class whore-house or as air headed as the young ambitious workers just brought in from the brothels. Ciel knew there was no greater goal to this brothel, no shining light to work for. The best a whore got was to be a governess, or Mistress to a member of royalty. Not much other than that, so he almost always assumed the brothel workers were all stupid when he heard them discussing plans to have a family in America or to move to England and marry a soldier.

But that is perhaps what made him so cocky, this assumed position he liked to believe he held over people. He liked to pretend he was above everyone and that no one would ever catch him, something that nearly cost him his pride and virginity today. He would not make that mistake again, at least not on the same level. He now saw the people he was going to con as equal players until they proved themselves to be otherwise. He felt a ghost of a smirk tug at his lips; he would be far more perfect the next time he went out, if he ever went out again. The lingering threat of the man with the vermillion eyes still lingered on the front end of Ciel’s memory. He knew the boy was a con artist out to get money, and he could ruin everything. He knew Ciel’s face and voice now ( _stupid stupid stupid!_ ) and could easily tip off the police to his workings. Ciel would be arrested at best and exposed at worst. Exposed to the owner of the brothel was a bad idea, since he could force the Madam to fire all three of Ciel’s mothers and toss the boy back on the street to die in the coming winter. That was probably his biggest fear, being alone again and losing his mothers. So he had to avoid the vermillion eyed man at all costs. How the man kept finding him was a mystery to him, perhaps the man was stalking him. The idea made him shudder, and not in a pleasant way.

He heard a noise outside of the door and Ciel stiffened for a moment until he recognized the tones of Grell’s voice as he argued with another brothel worker before slamming the door open and shutting it harshly behind him. Ciel lifted the blanket from his head and let his eyes follow the man as he walked about the room, tearing his accessories off and bushing his hair. He was clearly not happy, and Ciel debated making his presence known or just lifting the covering over his head again and letting Grell calm down in his own way. But his planning was cut short when Grell caught sight of him in the vanity mirror and turned to face him, halfway through removing the access blush from his cheeks.

“Brat? You are back early.” The man stated, tone stating that he was trying his best not to snap at the boy, despite his ill mood.

“Ran into some trouble. Decided I would listen to my momma for once and stay home.” Ciel said back, voice mostly monotone. He knew his referral to Grell as “momma” would alert the man to Ciel’s distress, since Ciel rarely used anything but his mothers’ first names since he turned eleven.

“Do share, brat. I _need_ something to kill right now.” The man growled, ripping the laces from his boots.

“I doubt killing anything would satiate your temper. What has you so ravenous for maiming this time?” Ciel asked and Grell threw his heeled boots at his pile of shoes.

“Oh no no no, dear brat. I asked first. You tell me, I’ll tell you.” Grell offered and Ciel nodded with a sigh.

“Tried to con this guy out of some money but he saw right through my act.” Ciel said and Grell waited for the rest. Ciel had failed before, but he never acted like this afterwards. “He read it the wrong way though. He thought I was a street walker.” Ciel said carefully, his words like pin drops against the pregnant silence that followed.

“Did he touch you?” The question that followed was not a question so much as a demand, a cocking in the gun Grell had become. Depending on how Ciel answered the question, he’d be firing the weapon and Grell’s temper would flare out of control. He was cocked and ready to be fired, all barrels loaded and each bullet sharp and read to tear into some flesh. Ciel knew he had to be careful, or Grell would be sleeping in prison tonight.

“Not in the way you are thinking.” Ciel stated and quickly clarified when Grell coiled tighter, gripping the knife under his vanity desk. “He didn’t touch me.....you know, _there_.” Ciel said, blushing as he did so, but continuing to speak. “He just kissed my neck. Maybe he bit it, I can’t really remember, but see, no harm done.” He assured gently, tilting his neck for Grell to inspect. He felt like a lion tamer in that moment, trying to calm an angry and protective male lion who was starving. It was like stroking the angry animal, hoping that the beast would calm in time for Ciel to save it from being put down. “I’m fine, just shaken up.” Ciel assured again as Grell carefully inspected his neck, looking for any sort of evidence he could use to go out and kill someone.

“Fine.” Grell finally stated. “But you aren’t going out again for at least a week.” He stated.

Ciel stared at him. “You’re grounding me?” He asked and Grell nodded.

“I’m grounding you. You can still explore the brothel, but no going outside.” Grell glared when Ciel started to mount his protest. Ciel sighed and conceded.

“Not like I wanted to go back out anyway.” He muttered and Grell visibly relaxed. He was no longer a cocked gun ready for firing, more like a tired house cat. “So, what had you so ready to strangle the next person who crossed your path?” Ciel asked carefully and Grell groaned loudly.

“It’s nothing that really concerns you, _yet_ , but it’s such bothersome news for those of us working here. Mind you, I heard it from a regular client of Angelina’s, so I’m pretty sure this is not one of my ‘wild rumors’ as the rest of you like to accuse me of.” Grell warned, waving his finger at the amused child.

“Get on with it, you fruit.” Ciel stated.

Grell rolled his eyes. “Call me a fruit again and it will be two weeks. Now, shut up, I’m trying to tell you.” Grell said. “Now, where was I?”

“You heard something from a regular client of Angelina’s so it’s probably true.” Ciel reminded, crossing his arms over his chest in a patient manner.

“Right! Now stop interrupting. Anyway, I heard that the owner of our brothel recently had to pull out since he could no longer fund it, leaving the Madam to run everything. Well, she found someone knew in an English nobleman who bought the brothel for his......son I guess. I wasn’t listening that well, but anyway, the brothel has a new owner and from what I heard, our Madam is getting fired or demoted or something, since the new owner wants to run the brothel and actually _be_ here.” Grell stated, half excited and half annoyed.

Ciel knew this was probably highly distressing news. The old owner had never even visited, he just gave the Madam the money she requested to make purchases that were too large for the payments the workers received. Usually a brothel owner would do just that, give money for the brothel’s Madam to buy things for the workers or fund expansions. But now the brothel had been purchased by someone completely new, and this person wanted to come to stay at the brothel as well as run it himself. And the Madam was going to be fired or demoted to a normal working prostitute like Angelina or Meyrin? The idea was almost impossible, but then again there was money involved and money made the most impossible things happen like turn water to wine and men into women. It seemed everything had its price, and this time the price was paid in full so the new owner could do whatever he wanted. And with a new owner came the terror of the brothel cutting. Whores who did not make the weekly or monthly quota of visitors were often cut from the brothel and caste out, and if everyone was at least meeting the minimum, then those who barely made it were removed.

This posed the biggest problem for Meyrin, since she barely made the quotas and never really had any returning customers. It was not that she was unattractive, she was just shy and not very bold when it came to her looks or what she was doing for a living. Her number had certainly improved since Ciel came along, probably because Ciel was now a purpose she gave herself in her work, but she still barely made it. She had only two returning customers and that was a far cry from most other girls in the brothel, who had up to four, or Grell and Angelina, who had upwards of ten returning customers any given week. This also meant the most problem for Ciel. Ciel did not work at the brothel at all, nor contributed to its income, meaning he was a freeloader and unwelcome. The new owner could easily turn him away and caste him out with nothing or force him into becoming a worker.

“Worried about getting caught, brat?” Grell asked as if he had read Ciel’s mind and the boy nodded.

Once again Grell looked Ciel up and down with a careful eye, taking in the naked chest the boy sported and his long legs. Grell smirked and made eye contact with his adopted child and chuckled. “So why not join us in the business before the owner gets here? I’m sure you’d get plenty of customers in no time.” He said and Ciel rolled his eyes.

“Do not flatter me.” He snapped and Grell shrugged.

“One day you are going to wake up and realize just how pretty of a boy you are, dear brat. And I’m sure you’d make an even prettier girl if you felt the need to pursue a career like mine as a true actress.” Grell said.

“Both are a waste of my time and talents.” Ciel responded, laying down again and covering himself in the blanket. “So let’s both make the world a better place and ignore this ever happened, okay?” He said and Grell growled.

“You think it’s such a bad career choice to be a prostitute?” He snapped and Ciel shrugged under his covers.

“I wouldn’t know. I didn’t _choose_ it.” He snapped back, letting his temper get the better of him.

Grell was about to yell at him, he could feel the man rising, when the door once again slammed open. In stepped a very confused and slightly worse for a wear Angelina. Grell’s temper instantly flew away at the site of Madam Red returning early, and Ciel poked his out from the blanket to see what the fuss was about.

“Oh. So you are here.” Angelina stated, looking at Ciel.

“Yeah.....?” Ciel asked, unsure about her tone as he sat up, letting the blanket fall from his form. “And?”

Angelina quickly stepped in to the room and shut the door before adjusting her gloves and hat. She cleared her throat and dusted her dress off. “I apologize for alarming you, I was just coming back to the brothel with a very nice man I met two days ago, when I spotted a client standing by himself. I thought it was strange, since some of the girls were looking at him like he had grown a third head or something. Anyway, I decided to see for myself this man and let me tell you, he is a handsome one. I almost forgot I had a client with me if he had not been attached to my arm.” She stated, still dusting off her dress and finally moving to dusting her hat.

“Does this story have a point, Angelina?” Ciel asked, crossing his arms again at being interrupted from his nap attempt. Or his argument with Grell, which was always fun.

“Hush, I was getting there.” Angelina chided and once again proved that sometimes Grell picked things up from the massive gossip. “Anyway, seeing how handsome he was made me wonder why he was alone and the girls were avoiding him, so I walked up to him and asked him why he had come to Black Lace. Well, not until after I introduced myself, since I _do_ have manners, unlike some of a petty street walking whores this brothel houses.....anyway, getting slightly off track there, where was I?”

“You asked the mysterious handsome man why he was at the brothel.” Ciel said with an aggravated sigh. Really, both Grell and Angelina did this so much it was an annoying routine. But Angelina had a tendency to lengthen her stories with rumors or embellishments, something she probably learned in her time as a noblewoman and having to fill time and breathing space with words.

“Yes, right. Anyway, when I asked him, he said he was looking for someone. So, like a true noblewoman, I offered my services in finding this person, since I know _everyone_ in the Red Light District. Which reminds me, Grell, did you know Angela is pregnant again?” She asked, turning to Grell.

“No! Is she really?” Grell asked incredulously.

“Angelina! Focus!” Ciel yelled and Angelina looked back at him.

“Of course, forgive me. I got a little distracted. Anyway, he said he did not have a name but he had a description, so I told him to tell me about the person he sought and, let me tell you, he gave a very _detailed_ description of this person. And I instantly knew who it was so I came back to our room as quick as possible to see if they person he wanted was here or not. But the person he seeks is here, so now all I have to do is deliver the message.” Angelina concluded and Ciel motioned for her to finish her story.

She looked Ciel dead in the face and her lips firmed into a straight line. “There’s someone at the front to see you, Ciel.” She stated and Ciel felt his heart stop.

“I....w-what.....for me?” Ciel babbled as a shirt was thrown at him by Grell.

“Yes. For you. Now, hurry up, dear.” Angelina stated, helping the confused boy into his shirt and leading him down the hall. Ciel was scared now. Someone had seen him and reported him. Now he was going to be arrested and his mothers would either disown him or be kicked out of the brothel for harboring him for so long. He fought against Angelina and broken from her grasp.

“No.” Ciel stated and Angelina looked at him unbelievingly.

“Why not, sweet heart?” She asked gently, seeing the fear pass over Ciel like a drowning wave.

“I don’t want to be taken away.” He whispered gently and Angelina smiled, pulling the boy close to her chest. She stroked his hair gently, the way she had when he woke up in the middle of the night with nightmares of the bombs crashing and the fires that consumed London during the wars. Slowly he felt the fear ease from his body, and he loosely grabbed on to her waist and her arm, burying his face into her shoulder.

“No one will take you from me, dear one.” Angelina assured. “Nor Grell, nor Meyrin.” She cooed softly, stroking the boy’s hair. “It is not the police who are here to see you. And you know as well as I, if this man harms or threatens you, Grell will quickly relieve the man of his ability to call himself a man.” Angelina said in a light tone that had Ciel chuckling.

“With that scary bread knife of his.” Ciel stated, barking a laugh at the mental image. “Such bravery.” He stated, pulling away from the older woman and wiping his eyes.

“That’s it, dear, stiffen up. You have nothing to fear. Even if this man was to take you away, I’m sure most of the whores here would look the other way while Meyrin and Grell found a good place to bury the remains. He offended a good number of them by refusing their company, and you know how these magpies can get.” She said and Ciel raised his eyebrow.

“Why are you making me meet with him? Aren’t I supposed to be hiding?”

Angelina sighed but nodded. “Yes, dear, but he already knows you are here. He has a very _detailed_ idea of what you look like and now where you live. So I have little choice right now.”

“Okay. Let’s go.” He stated and Angelina led him to a side room away from the lobby to prevent Ciel from being seen again. Ciel understood, Angelina had told the man to wait in one of the private meeting rooms while she fetched Ciel, just another way the older woman was protecting Ciel’s identity at the brothel. She stopped in front of the peacock room, one of Ciel’s favorites to look at because of the colorful decorations, and opened the door. She turned back to Ciel and put a gloved hand to his face.

“If anything goes wrong, just holler. I will be right out here in the lobby.” She whispered to him and Ciel nodded before switching places with her and walking into the room. He shut the door behind him and braced himself for what he would find beyond the peacock blue curtains that hung in front of the door, giving the room the feel of a private place. He took in a deep breath and turned with purpose, striding through the curtain, pushing it aside as he did.

“Someone was looking for me?” He asked, eyes still looking anywhere but right in front of him.

“So this is where you live.”

Ciel’s eyes widened and his head snapped forward, only to find the vermillion eyed man in front of him, sitting on the emerald green fainting couch that had peacock feathers sticking up from it that made the man look like he had a full peacock tail spread out behind him. The image fit with the cocky smirk and raised eyebrow he sported and Ciel remained frozen to the spot.

“I....you....how?” Ciel babbled again and the man chuckled before standing, offering Ciel his hand.

“Perhaps introductions are in order.” He said and Ciel took his hand confused.

“I....I guess. I’m Ciel Phantomhive, I guess you could call me the son of the brothel.” He said slowly.

The other man nodded. “I am Sebastian Michaelis, I guess you could call me a British Nobleman.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get easily distracted by brothers Winchester. Oh, and life responsibilities. And Niki. 
> 
> Dammit Niki.


	7. Don't Hold Your Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niki is best editor. Worship her.

Ciel was in a dangerous position. The man in front of him was a nobleman from England and he _knew_ his name and where he lived now. The nobleman just sat there, staring at him as Ciel grabbed at the curtains behind him. Once introductions had been completed, the man backed off and further reclined on the fainting couch. Ciel took the moments of silence to actually study the man; he was around the same age as the people Ciel generally targeted. This put Ciel at some slight ease, at least it was not some old man who had found about his existence. But this knowledge did not prevent his desire to run and Ciel was only inching closer to the door as the staring of the older man continued. His vermillion stare was unnerving, as if he could see right through everything Ciel was and the feeling left the boy feeling very exposed and frightened. But there was also the spark of amusement that made Ciel stay put, knowing somehow-- _instinctually almost_ \--that the man would not turn him in. In fact the man seemed as amused with Ciel’s discomfort as Ciel felt unnerved about being around the man. It also did not help that the man did not _look_ threatening. He was handsome, probably even more so than anyone Ciel had encountered before.

Ciel released the curtain and shuffled around under the man’s gaze. It was intense, as if every fiber of Ciel’s being was being judged.

“What?!” He finally shouted at the man, making the man chuckle.

“You are cute.” He said and Ciel felt his temper flare.

“Excuse me?! You stalked me for two days and followed me to my home to tell me _I’m CUTE_?!” Ciel snapped as he approached the man, feet stomping on the ground like a temperamental five year old.

“Well, not really. I wanted to know more about you.” The man admitted.

“No thank you. I already told you, I’m not a whore. So leave.” Ciel barked at the man, crossing his arms.

“So how old are you?”

“How old are you?”

“So you live here without being a whore?”

“Why are you in France if you’re a British nobleman?”

“Are you just going to keep dodging my questions by asking me ones about myself?”

“How long to intend to stay here, bothering me?”

The man went silent then, meeting Ciel’s angry glare with an indifferent one and refused to look away. Ciel continued glaring at the man, frustrated that he could not get a read on the man. It was like there was nothing behind his eyes, and it was all Ciel could do not to scream. Ciel was normally very good at reading people and could instantly tell what a person was thinking, but this time, there was nothing. There was no way to tell if the man was being honest or malicious or manipulative or was genuinely interested in Ciel. That was perhaps the most frustrating of all; the fact that Ciel could not tell if he was being led on or not. There was nothing, no red flags, no feeling of comfort, nothing.

“I’m leaving.” Ciel announced and pivot turned on his heel towards the door.

“Shame.” The man said, tone clearly telling Ciel that if he left something would happen. The first jolt of suspicion he felt since he entering the room flickered in Ciel’s head and he slowly turned.

“Why?” He asked carefully.

“I was going to invite you to dinner with me, but if you insist on leaving, I guess I’ll have to make my decision on my own.”

“What decision?”

“The decision on whether or not I’d tell the new brothel owner about your presence here or not.” The threat was clear and Ciel felt ice trickle down his spine and his heart stop. He knew what the man was doing, it was a tactic Ciel had seen used many times. The man was now blackmailing him into dinner. And Ciel had no choice anymore.

“When?” He asked, frustrated defeat in his voice.

“I will take you as soon as you are dressed properly.” The man said and Ciel tightened his fists. Well, that was a rather broad invitation, Ciel could just walk from the room and run. But he would not; and _damn it_ that man knew it. Ciel would not risk being exposed. He had been played, and far worse than that, the man had read right through him.

Growling under his breath, Ciel stomped out the room and slammed the door again, looking at Angelina who had been true to her word and waiting in the lobby. Making eye contact with her and telling her that he was upset, he dashed off to their room; Angelina’s clicking heels echoing behind him as she attempted to keep up. Ciel rushed in their room without much thought and nearly ran Meyrin over in his temper tantrum. The young woman quickly adjusted and steadied herself under Ciel’s collide, grabbing his arms.

“Ciel? What’s wrong?” She asked.

“Nothing.” Ciel said in a pouting voice, removing himself from Meyrin’s grasp and kicking up clothing on the floor.

“Then why are you looking for an outfit like you have some kind of last minute appointment?”

“Cause I do. No, not an appointment, I have a last minute _dinner date_ with an unreadable, blackmailing jerk!” He shouted, earning a chuckle from Angelina when she entered the room.

“Is that what that man wanted?” She asked and Ciel sent her a glare.

“Did the word ‘ _blackmail_ ’ slip past your ears?” Ciel snapped and Angelina laughed.

“Oh please, love. If I had a payment for every time I’ve been ‘blackmailed’ by a client, I’d be richer than a pirate.” She said, tapping the boy on the head as she did. “Though I have to wonder why he wants to take you to dinner. Perhaps he wishes to invest in the brothel.” She muttered to herself. “You know, if you start work with a patron already lined up, you’d basically be safe in the business for life.” She said as she pushed Ciel to the side in his clothing search.

“I seem to recall having this conversation with Grell earlier. Speaking of, where is he?” Ciel asked, watching as Angelina went through the clothing around the room.

“He spotted Will, so I doubt he’ll be back before closing.” Meyrin stated and Ciel rolled his eyes. It was well known that Grell was pining after the stiff hired guard, though the man seemed about as interested as Ciel was in going to dinner.

“Poor Will.” Ciel stated as a pile of clothing was suddenly thrown at him. He was about to protest when he looked at them.

“What in the world is this, Angelina?” He almost yelled.

“You can’t go to a date with just any clothes, love. These are your date clothes.” She said flippantly before giving a look to Ciel that told him that he had better get dressed or else. With a growl Ciel did as he was told.

When he was dressed, he wanted to roll his eyes as his mother’s sense of clothing. He was dressed in something half way between the typical clothing of the 1930s and his mother’s obsession with the Victorian Era. Knee-length shorts of basic black made up his lower half while a blue dress shirt was covered by a darker blue vest that was adorned with gold buttons. As he pulled up his socks and attached his mid-shin high black shoes that bore a slight heel, he sighed. The deep blue of the laces tied the shoes to the top and when he looked up at his mother, she handed him a black pinstripe jacket that was only a little too long for him. It wasn’t bulky however and as Angelina buttoned it shut, the stripes did their job and made Ciel look even skinnier and straighter than he already was. She made sure his boots were tightened properly and clapped her hands.

“You look completely adorable, Ciel!” She said. “I am wonderful at picking clothing. He won’t be able to resist you in these.” She affirmed and both Ciel and Meyrin rolled their eyes.

“I don’t think you should be putting Ciel on display like this. The man might be dangerous.” Meyrin commented as Ciel rolled the sleeves up on the jacket to make them fit his arms, finding the process frustrated when the sleeves refused to fold symmetrically.

“The only danger here is Ciel not getting his attention.” Angelina waved the younger woman off.

“I don’t like the idea of a stranger wanting to take Ciel out and none of us going with him.” Meyrin protested as Ciel finally just gave up on the jacket and ripped it off, leaving just the shirt and vest. At least the shirt was already pinned at his wrists. He glared at the offensive coat before sighing and patting Meyrin on the hand.

“I’ll be fine. Promise.” He assured, taking her hand gun when the woman still looked unsure. He carefully tucked it into his vest, and it was basically hidden as the gun was intended to only carry one shot. Such a small gun may have seemed like a foolish idea, but not with Meyrin or Ciel. Both were very good at shooting and one bullet was enough to get an attacker off their trail. Once Angelina stopped fussing over the hair he would probably just mess up again once she was out of sight, Ciel took another breath. It was time for him to go on his date.

\--

It was the second time that week that Ciel had been treated to a meal by a wealthy man. But this time he was not trying to get money from the man, so he hardly touched the food in front of him and instead spent his time watching the man for any sign of weakness Ciel could exploit. He was being critical of the man and every detail, from a thread loose in the man’s black pinstripe suit, to every twitch his hand made when he reached for his glass. Everything was catalogued. But the man was almost crazy perfect. His hair was framing his face perfectly, even the hairs that would normally be out of place seemed to a perfect style for the man. His skin was slightly pale, probably from the fact he was English (or at least that’s what Grell said all the time), but there was almost no flaw to it. No scratch, no tiny scars that would wink in the light, nothing. It was as if the man had never gotten into a fight, or tripped as a child, or did _anything_. His black pinstripe suite was tailored to his frame, lengthening the man’s body while the dark red vest and white shirt underneath commanded attention from everyone around him. His cufflinks were silver, glinting like diamonds against the candle on the table as he once again reached for his glass for a drink.

He reminded Ciel of a gangster, like the ones he’d seen a few times arguing with the Madam of the brothel. They were not a common sight, but they also commanded attention like this man did.

“Are you really a nobleman?” Ciel finally asked.

“Ah. Finally talking now, are we?” The man responded.

“Look. Answer the question and I’ll answer one of yours from earlier.” Ciel offered, crossing his arms over his vest and taking a drink from his own water glass.

The man chuckled. “Alright. Deal.” He said before setting the water down on the table. “Yes. I am really a nobleman. I have my title papers if you wish for proof.” The man said with a pinning stare and Ciel shook his head. He was just going to believe the man. “Now, your answer?”

Ciel smirked. “Yes. I am going to dodge all your questions by asking you ones about yourself.” He affirmed. The man across from him smirked back and nodded.

“Fair enough. But I could make you answer, you know.” The man related as he took a bite of the bread in front of him.

Ciel shrugged. “You would have already if you intended to.” He said, taking the other roll from the table and eating. The man nodded.

“Caught on, have you? Good.”

Ciel raised his eyebrow, but let it go. The man was not going to make him talk, but that did not mean that the threat did not still stand. When the food arrived, Ciel found himself staring at the food with wide eyes. Again given more food than he was used to, Ciel could only stare at the spread. It was less than the meal the other man had bought for him, but it was still more than what was normal, usually only living off the tips his mothers made and the sweets he bought for himself off his cons. Before him was a spread of bread, different jams and a bowl of a strange yellowish soup that was thick like a stew and filled with what looked to be chunks of a dark meat. He had never seen anything like it and was unsure if he was supposed to eat it or dip the bread in it. Looking over to the black-haired man ( _his name is Sebastian, right?_ ) for cues, he only found those amused eyes and matching smirk again; again Ciel’s face lit up with indignation.

His pride would not let him ask, so instead he grabbed his spoon and shoveled a piece of the meat and strangely thick broth into his mouth in defiance of the man in front of him. He instantly regretted it when his mouth felt like it was on fire. At first he thought it was because the soup was freshly cooked, but the heat spread as he breathed, back into his throat and into his nose, making his eyes water. Still refusing to let the man get the best of him, Ciel chewed the thick meat and found that some of the heat went away when the meat absorbed the fluid in his mouth. He swallowed and instantly grabbed his water, downing it quickly and sending a thick glare at the across from him. In response, the man laughed.

“What the hell was that?!” Ciel hissed.

“I see you’ve never had curry before. It was hugely popular in the Victorian era shortly after England conquered India. It’s still a common food in England, but this is the first restaurant I’ve seen in France that makes it. So I guess I should have expected you’ve never had it.” The man said and Ciel growled at him.

“Of course I’ve never had it.” He snarled. “I hate it. It’s too spicy and disgusting.”

The man shook with laughter. “Alright. Alright. I admit it was probably a mean trick to order you Lamb Vindaloo on your first trip.” He said and called the waiter to take it back and instead ordered something else Ciel recognized as Indian.

“I don’t want curry.” Ciel glowered.

“Alright. We’ll make a deal. If you don’t like the next curry they bring out, I’ll never bother you again and you can return to your life of con-artistry and brothel-living. However, if you do like it you’ll have dinner with me once every week.” He put forth and Ciel considered his options.

“What of your threat?” He asked.

“Well, I was trying to leave it out of the equation, but since you seem determined to bring it up, it still stands. If you fail to meet me for dinner, I guess I’ll have to tell. But if you don’t like the curry I’ll forget I even made a threat.” He offered and Ciel nodded slowly.

“Fine. Deal.” He said, shaking hands with the man across from him as the waiter brought out another bowl filled with a pale yellow curry that was less bright than the one before. The meat this time was chicken, Ciel could at least recognize it easily and that gave him some confidence to eat it. Remembering how badly the one before had burned, Ciel took a much smaller amount in to his spoon and put it in his mouth carefully. The heat was still there, but far less powerful as Ciel was introduced to the actual flavor behind curry. The thick stew was more milky and smooth than the one before and the flavor of the curry behind it was incredible.

He cursed under his breath as he swallowed. He looked up at Sebastian and saw the victory there. _Damn him._ Ciel hissed internally. Sebastian had won.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chicken Korma is the best, yo


	8. You Know I'll Sleep When I am Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel stopped for a moment. Did he trust Sebastian? It was a loaded question to be sure. For the last few weeks, he had faithfully met with the man for dinner, finding it to be a rather enjoyable experience. No red flags seemed to surface about Sebastian, and nothing he did made Ciel believe he was malicious, but it was still hard to get a read on the man.

This was his fourth dinner with Sebastian, and the man had taken him to a more classic place for French cuisine, and while Ciel ate mouthfuls of potatoes and cream, he listened to Sebastian tell him about himself. Sebastian was not born a nobleman; instead he was born a butler to the Royal Family of England before and during the war. However, because of his excellent service and his loyalty to the crown (and probably his discovery and apprehension of an assassin sent to kill the Prince), Sebastian had been given an official noble title and was freed from his servant title. He was now technically a Baron (he preferred Lord), which was the highest position he could be given without being from a Royal Family. But since noble titles were not really as respected as they were before, it was the wealth and land that came with it that truly mattered. Sebastian had a land holding in both England and France, and his land was one of the few that had not been completely destroyed during the war. Because of that, most of his wealth had stayed intact and now he was looking to invest in French and Italian companies that were looking to get back on their feet. 

“You should pull your money away from the shipyards and focus on getting a foothold in Asia and Russia.” Ciel said off-handedly. 

“Oh? Why?” Sebastian questioned over his glass of wine.

“Well, right now the other businessmen are trying to get back on their feet after the war. So while they are distracted, you have open opportunity to invest in more landlocked countries that won’t be affected by things like halted ocean trade.” Ciel began, continuing at Sebastian’s blank stare. He felt the need to defend himself now. 

“I mean, both China and Russia are large land masses with rich, steadfast cultures. It’s probably a safe idea to get a headstart on establishing trade there since they are least likely to suffer from conflict if another war broke out. I mean, when was the last time you saw anyone fight in  _ Russia _ .”

Ciel was greeted with an unusual stare that made him think that he might have done something wrong, but the smile that ghosted over Sebastian’s face made Ciel feel strangely warm inside. He smiled back, a little, and focused on Sebastian telling him about the reason he was visiting the slums in France. 

Sebastian had a friend in France named Agni, who was helping work the relief efforts in the slums. Agni was from India and apparently made the best curry Sebastian had ever eaten in his life. One day, Sebastian said, Ciel would get to meet the man. Sebastian was checking on his friend and was there to offer financial assistance to Agni’s efforts, but the man had politely refused, saying that he had more than enough money from the Indian Crown to carry out his relief plan for the other Indians living in France. Ciel had a suspicion that it was Agni’s efforts that were (in a backwards way) feeding the brothels in the Red Light more money, since many of the French-Indian men from the slums had been visiting lately, laden with pockets full of money. But he was not going to vocalize this and instead continued eating the rich, flavorful French food. 

“How are things at home?” Sebastian finally asked and Ciel stiffened visibly. Ciel had hardly talked about himself during their dinners, outside of obvious information. However, he had more than once called Grell, Angelina, and Meyrin his mothers, which led to him telling Sebastian how he had been found dying at the age of four by Meyrin and was raised by the three for basically his entire life. Which then led to Ciel telling Sebastian how he managed to stay under the radar at the brothel and what he observed day in and day out, which eventually led to Ciel telling Sebastian how he pulled off cons on the street. Now that he thought about it, Ciel realized that he had probably talked about himself as much as Sebastian did. But Ciel never talked much about how the brothel was run or what had been going on. 

And what had been going on was not something Ciel was going to be very open about. Ciel shrugged and refused to meet the older man’s eyes. 

“The new owner came in two weeks ago, right? Have you seen him?” Sebastian asked and Ciel shook a little. 

“Yeah.” He said absentmindedly, thinking about the demon that had appeared and now ran the brothel as owner and self-proclaimed Madam. 

“So you have no complaints. Good.” Sebastian said. 

Ciel shook harder, his temper fighting to get the most of him. No complaints? He  _ hated _ the owner and what the owner had been doing. 

“I never said that.” Ciel said quietly, looking at his clenching fists. 

“Tell me.” Sebastian said in a tone Ciel had only heard once before. It was the tone Sebastian used to make Ciel feel safe and like Sebastian would keep all his secrets. For a moment, Ciel considered both the good and bad of doing such a thing, but in the end, the good far outweighed the bad. 

“The new owner is the same age as me, did you know that?” He started. Sebastian did not move, and just looked at him patiently. “He’s this skinny blonde kid named Alois. The person who bought the brothel was Earl Trancy from England and gave it to Alois for some reason. But the kid is  _ evil _ . He’s like some kind of demon. And he’s moved into the brothel and hired a bunch of new street walkers who are nothing more than over-the-top whores. And he has the  _ worst _ temper I have ever seen. He beats the workers openly if they argue with him or a ‘potential client’, even if the client is the one at fault!” He ranted. “He once stuck his fingers into one girl’s eye and destroyed it because she ‘looked at him wrong’! Can you believe that?” Ciel fumed, watching the slight shock pass over Sebastian’s face before it was gone. 

Ciel took another bite and swallowed it before he spoke again. “Meyrin once came back from working the streets in front of the brothel with this really big gash on her arm. Like, disgustingly big, and it took Angelina hours  _ JUST _ to clean the blood and dirt from it before she could even properly see it. And when Grell goes to request for medical supplies, he gets told that he will be punished for leaving his room after hours! If Will hadn’t come along with a medical kit, I am pretty sure Meyrin would have bled to death. It’s disgusting and horrible. I would never do that, even if I lost my own temper.” Ciel growled, taking a drink. 

“No. You wouldn’t.” Sebastian agreed. “You are not the type to hurt another without a good reason.” He said and Ciel nodded. 

“Yeah. I’m like a snake. I’ll give you a ton of warning before I hurt you.”

“Actually, that’s more like a cat.” 

“I hate cats.”

“I love them.”

“Cats are evil. They ambush people. And their warning is really quiet. I’d be more like a dog, growling and barking and whatnot.”

“But you are not very vocal about your displeasure. You do it more through actions.”

“So I’m a quiet person. So what?”

“You are more like a cat.”

“......we are done talking about this.” Ciel said, fixing the man with a glare. The man across from him laughed and Ciel blushed slightly. He really was acting like a cat and it was embarrassing. He would never hear the end of it from Sebastian now. He crossed his arms and stuck his tongue out at the man, turning away with a pout. 

“Alright. Alright, little Lord. Did you do any cons today?” Sebastian said, smoothly moving the conversation away from the brothel to Ciel’s personal gains. 

Ciel sighed, rubbing the sides of his head slowly to calm himself down after the rant. Realizing Sebastian was still waiting for an answer, Ciel nodded slowly. “I did.” He affirmed. 

“Score anything big today?” 

Ciel sighed and took a drink of his water before shrugging. “Nothing super impressive. I got enough to buy some more candy sticks and a pair of gloves for the winter coming up.” He said, pulling the gloves from his pant pocket and handing them to Sebastian to look at. The man looked them over before giving them back. 

“You know, you don’t have to go out anymore.” He said and Ciel tilted his head. 

“How so?” 

“I could pay you for the time we spend doing this. Enough to easily double what you standardly get from your weekly cons.” Sebastian said and Ciel felt his eyes widen and heat dusting his cheeks. Whether it was out of embarrassment or anger he was not sure. 

“Then I would be no better than a common whore.” Ciel said. His voice lacked the usual malice, instead he sounded like he was stating an obvious point. 

“Yet you will allow me to take you out to dinner for nothing?” Sebastian argued and Ciel ran a finger over the rim of his glass. 

“Last time I checked I was forced into these arrangements via something called ‘blackmail’, as you’ll recall.” Ciel argued back, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

“Merely an empty threat to get you to see the proper side of things.” Sebastian said with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

“You mean your side of things.”

“That’s what I said.” 

Ciel laughed then. “I never would have pinned you for the vanity type.” He said and the man across from him smirked as well. 

“You’re right. I’m far more into  _ greed _ .” He said with a voice that had Ciel shuddering internally. He was not entirely sure why, but unless it was openly brought up, Ciel never really thought about the threat Sebastian had made to him. It was like something that was no longer relevant to the situation and was therefore never really mentioned. 

“Why  _ do _ you do all these cons? It can’t be because you are bored.” Sebastian suddenly said and Ciel looked up at him. 

“It’s not.” Ciel said and took another drink. “I do have a goal in mind. And it’s not the end of my boredom.” 

“What then?” Sebastian asked. 

“It’s a secret I prefer to tell only those I trust.” Ciel said with a teasing tone. 

Sebastian tilted his head. “And you don’t trust me?” 

Ciel stopped for a moment. Did he trust Sebastian? It was a loaded question to be sure. For the last few weeks, he had faithfully met with the man for dinner, finding it to be a rather enjoyable experience. No red flags seemed to surface about Sebastian, and nothing he did made Ciel believe he was malicious, but it was still hard to get a read on the man. However, it got to the point that Ciel seemed to be able to understand what the man was saying without any words passing between the two. Sebastian was smart and clever, a mental match for Ciel’s unending curiosity and sarcastic wit. The man was also good at keeping his word to Ciel. And he let Ciel pick where they met for the next dinner. He also never took a weapon when he was going to meet with Sebastian, meaning he did not feel threatened. 

“Ciel?” Sebastian interrupted his thoughts and Ciel looked up at him. 

“I want to buy out my mothers’ contracts and free them.” Ciel said suddenly before he realized it. His hand slammed over his mouth and his eyes widened. He had not meant to tell the man. Sebastian could use it against him. Talking about daily occurrences was one thing, but this was Ciel’s ultimate dream. Why had he told this man? Why had he told the man the only thing Ciel still kept to himself? He had never even told Grell or Meyrin or Angelina, so why did he tell Sebastian? 

“Excuse me.” Ciel said, getting up from the table and running off in the middle of their date. He could hear Sebastian calling out his name, but Ciel was too panicked to notice. Why? Whywhywhywhy? It made no sense. Did he trust Sebastian over his own mothers? How could that be possible? Ciel charged down the streets, feet flying down the pavement as he went. He ducked down alleyways and through abandoned buildings to get back to the brothel in a way that he was sure Sebastian would not be able to follow. True, it was probably useless since Sebastian knew where he lived and could easily get him to come out, but at that moment Ciel was too confused to care. 

He ducked into the back door and locked it, grateful none of his mothers were there at the moment as he jumped into his bed and pulled the blanket over his head. There, in the safety of his bed did Ciel allow himself to think over what had just happened. The question from earlier still weighed on his mind. Did he trust Sebastian? And is that why he told Sebastian something he had never told to even his own parents? He clenched and unclenched his fists in thought, closing his eyes and just allowing himself to think. He thought about his past few weeks with Sebastian and what had changed. When they had met, Ciel had danced around his questions and conversation, trying to get through dinner without talking to the man. Somehow that changed to Ciel finally answering the man’s questions or affirming the man’s guessing. He found Sebastian smart and observant; the man had pieced together things about him that Ciel did not even tell him based on the way he acted. Sebastian’s mind was refreshing and fun to get to know, and he loved the expression of surprise that passed over the man’s face when Ciel did the same thing to him. 

There was no doubt that the man was handsome. Even only ever comparing beauty based on what Ciel saw in the brothel, the man stood out. He was like a single pitch colored bird in a flock of peacocks and cardinals; a blatant truth in a sea of lies.

It seemed sometimes that Sebastian was the only real thing in Ciel’s life now. 

Sebastian did not seem to want something from Ciel, and Ciel found that he did not lie to the man. His features were sharp and dangerous, like a polished spear end or well-cared for knife blade. Ciel had little doubt the man could kill if he truly wanted to, and the story of being a butler for a royal family ringed hollow in Ciel’s mind almost as if he could see an underlying truth to the above one. The way Sebastian talked about working in the Royal house, Ciel was well aware of the fact Sebastian had probably killed would-be assassins before. But the knowledge did not startle or frighten Ciel, it only made the man seem all the more real. And Ciel was grateful for that realness, happy to hear the raven caw loudly over the sounds of the peacocks crying for attention. He welcomed the man into his life without realizing it fully. 

And as grateful as he was for the honesty of Sebastian’s appearance and mannerisms, it was truly the way the man just accepted how Ciel was that the boy found the most refreshing. Yes, the man could be condescending, but he never really looked down on Ciel’s life. He did not pity the boy, nor did he try to convince him to leave the brothel and make a life for himself. He never brought it up and just accepted Ciel’s life as it was. And that was a novelty for Ciel; even Elizabeth had offered him a job at the shop to try and get him to leave the brothel life. And all three of his mothers expressed a desire for him to leave the brothel and find his own life. But Sebastian merely asked him what was going on at the brothel and openly referred to the brothel as Ciel’s home. It was easier to tell the man about the goings on in the brothel when Sebastian asked how it had been going at his  _ home _ rather than asking what was new in the  _ brothel _ . 

Now that Ciel thought about it, Sebastian was the  _ only _ person he trusted outside of his mothers. And he was not sure how it got that way, but it had, and there was no changing the fact that Ciel did not want to think about the time the man would leave. But why did that leave him confused and afraid of what the man thought? Ciel’s brows furrowed and he clenched his fists again, realizing what he feared was probably true. The way he trusted the man and looked forward to his company each week, the way the man seemed to become his grounding spot and rock in life, there was only one true explanation. 

_ Ciel was in love _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. Stuff happened. Motivation was lost.   
> Friends are patient and wonderful.   
> I'm glad I have them.


End file.
